Bing's Law
by missineichen
Summary: When Chandler is accused of attempted murder, the lives of 6 friends spiral out of control. COMPLETE.
1. Chandler babysits

**CHANDLER BABYSITS**

Rachel dropped Emma off at Chandler and Monica's. After kissing Emma on the forehead and thanking Chandler for babysitting, Rachel hurried off to work. Monica was busy cooking up a storm at the restaurant, and Chandler had the day off. Chandler set Emma down on the floor next to Jack and Erica, encouraging her to play with them. Emma eyed them superiorly.

"Ew, they're babies!"

Chandler smiled and patted Emma on the head. "Now, be nice."

Chandler went to the kitchen to prepare everyone's meal. Mashed pumpkin for the twins, and Cheesy macaroni with cut up hotdogs for Emma and himself. The three children congregated on a plush red furry rug. Wrinkling her nose at the babyish toys before her (building blocks and squishy baby books), Emma pulled a bright pink sparkly scrunchie out of her hair, and tied Jack's hair into a ponytail.

"Heehee! Now you are a girl, now you are a girl!" she sang with delight.

Chandler smiled and shook his head. The girl was a spitting image of her mother in appearance and _personality_. In fact, there wasn't an ounce of Geller in Emma. She was all Greene, with her wispy blonde hair, clear blue eyes and sun-kissed tan skin. Chandler set a bowl of mac & cheese in front of Emma. She eagerly dug in, grasping the spork with her pudgy little hands. Chandler removed the hair tie from his son's hair.

"The cycle ends here, Jack. Now is not the time to follow in your grandfather's footsteps," Chandler muttered sarcastically.

Emma's face turned beetroot red, she scrunched up her eyes, and began squealing with rage at her ruined artistry. She kicked at the floor and pounded it with her little fists.

Chandler raised his eyebrows at the scary little bundle of terror screaming at his feet, "Whoa well c'mon now, it's not the end of the world. Tell you what. You settle down and eat your mac and cheese, and I'll let you give me a makeover, how does that sound?"

Emma paused instantly mid-tantrum and looked up at Chandler with wide watery doe-eyes, "O-o-ok, uncle Chan" she agreed, instantly placated by his offer.

Eager to get started on her Godfather's makeover, Emma rushed through her meal, stuffing her chubby face at the speed of light. Chandler ate his mac & cheese and spooned mouthfuls of mashed pumpkin into the twins' mouths. Chandler washed the children's hands, and wiped their faces with a wet handkerchief. He mopped up spilled mac & cheese and pumpkin from the floor, and put the cutlery and dishes into the dishwasher. Chandler grabbed a bunch of erica's hair ties, ribbons, hairbands and hairclips and passed them to Emma.

"Knock yourself out, kid," Chandler said dryly.

Giggling with excitement, Emma climbed into Chandlers lap, grasped a handful of his chestnut hair, and began decorating him. Chandler grimaced, as Emma pulled hard at his hair. After she was satisfied with her work, she clapped her hands eagerly.

"Gimme a mirror, gimme a mirror!" Emma yelled. Chandler handed Emma a handheld mirror. She shoved the mirror in his face, face lit with cheeky glee.

"Look! You look like princess! Princess Uncle Chan Chan Man!" Chandler stared at his reflection. He was wearing four polka dot hairbands, his hair was tied into five different ponytails, and clipped with various _Bratz_hairclips.

"I look more like a Queen, Emma." Chandler smiled sardonically, adding "Just like my father", under his breath.

Emma nodded eagerly in agreement, "Yes, you look like a princess AND a queen! Both!"

Jack giggled at his father, and Erica pouted grouchily, disgruntled that her father had stolen her hair products. She pulled the unused hair ties towards her, holding them protectively away from him. Chandler kissed the tops of the children's heads, and stood up.

"Could I _be _any more of a Queen?" Chandler teased.

Emma cupped her hand over her mouth and giggled. Chandler glanced around the house, making sure it was child-safe. All cupboards were padlocked so the kids wouldn't drink cleaning products. The knives were safely out of reach, stowed away in cupboards too high for small children to reach. The fans were unplugged, to protect curious little fingers. Sharp corners of tables were covered with protective rubber. Stoves were off, and no hot pots or pans sat on the kitchen counter. Monica had done an excellent job at child proofing the house. Time for a quick shower.

_I See You - MIKA_

_I'm standing across from you (But I see you) _  
_I've dreamt alone, now the dreams won't do (But I see you) _  
_I'm standing across from you (But I see you) _  
_I've dreamt alone, now the dreams won't do (But I see you) _

_Truth be told, my problem solved _  
_You mean the world to me _  
_But you'll never know _  
_You could be cruel to me _  
_While we're risking the way that I see you _  
_But I see you (x4)_


	2. Blood

**BLOOD**

Chandler stepped out of the bathroom, "Children! I trust that you've all been surviving and managing without me, while I've been away for a whole five minutes!" Chandler teased.

Chandler looked at Jack and Erica, who were seated on the play mat banging the fronts of two toy trucks violently into each other.

"Bang Bang Boom! Boom Bang Boom!" Jack and Erica yelled mirthfully.

"Good God. Reckless driving, already. Clearly your mother and I have failed you both as parents. I see you're not playing with your God-sister. Clearly she disapproves of on-road violence," Chandler joked.

Chandler glanced around the house, "Speaking of which, where _is _your God-sister? Emma, Emma! I know you're not fond of babies, but I'm here now, so it's safe to come out of hiding now!" Chandler jokingly called out.

Chandler wandered from room to room, "Emma! Emma! Seriously, Em, where are you hiding? Emma!" Chandler chuckled uncomfortably, "This is so _not _funny anymore."

Feeling the beginnings of anxiety, Chandler called her name out louder, "Emma! Emma! Answer me, please! Where are you? I'm not joking around anymore!"

Wandering into the kitchen, Chandler felt something warm and sticky soaking through his bedroom slippers. Glancing down at his feet, he saw a burgundy liquid ooze across the kitchen floor.

"What the hell? What… what is this?" he muttered to himself. Suddenly the realization hit him. His face grew pale. He opened his mouth to call Emma's name once more, but no sound escaped his mouth. It was like a pair of cold invisible hands had wrapped themselves tightly around his throat. And then he saw her. Lying face down, on the open dishwasher, her tiny frame impaled by a large kitchen knife.

The silver tip of the knife peeked through her back, and her lavender cotton dress was almost completely stained dark red. She lay limply like a cold market fish, arms and legs drooped to the side, head resting against her chest. Her skin was deathly white and translucent. Her curly blond hair was blackened and matted from blood. Blood was steadily dripping from the wound, to the dishwasher, to the floor. Chandler could see his terrorised expression in the pool of blood spreading at his feet.

Oh God. He had left the dishwasher open with the dirty dishes, and had placed the knife he cut the pumpkin with, pointing upwards in the cutlery holder. A bloodied barbie doll lay limp like Emma, on the dishwasher. Feeling dizzy, faint, freezing cold and terrified beyond words, Chandler turned his head to the side, and retched. Partially digested mac & cheese spilled into the floor, slashing into the pool of blood beneath his feet.

With vomit dribbling down chin, and tears blurring his vision, Chandler stumbled to Emma, and lifted her off the dishwasher, knife still impaled in her. His hands shook violently, and he almost fell over, slipping on the blood-slickened floor.

"Oh God, Emma, Oh God, Emma! Please, this blood, all this blood, it's got to stop, it's pouring out of her, I've got to stop… How do I stop... Oh Christ please, stop it, stop this blood, please!" Chandler choked, his voice escaping him like a strangled scream.

But how? He didn't know how! This wasn't a limb that he could restrict blood flow via a tourniquet. The knife was lodged squarely in her stomach. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Stumbling out of the kitchen, cradling a limp bloodied Emma to his chest, blind with tears; Chandler snatched up the phone, and dialed for an ambulance. Jack and Erica dropped the trucks they were playing with, and sat frozen to the spot, staring at Emma in silent wide-eyed shock. Though they were all but one year old, they knew something was terribly, terribly wrong.

"Hello this is 911, what is your emergency?" Chandler fought to get the words out, his breathing increasingly ragged and hysterical.

"Help, help me please, My God-daughter, Emma, she's... a knife, stabbing, there's blood, lots of it, oh God, so much blood, and I can't, I need to stop it, Oh God, I-I-I…" Chandler spluttered.

"I can't understand you. You need to calm down, you're hyperventilating. Take a deep breath, and start again," the operator said emphatically.

Chandler did as he was told, stating in a shaky but clear voice, his address, and the situation at hand. He placed two fingers on Emma's neck, adding breathlessly and gratefully, that he could feel a pulse.

"Don't do anything, leave the knife in. Don't even touch the wound. Stay calm, we're on our way," the Operator replied.

Hanging up the phone, Chandler knelt on the floor, cradling Emma close to him, terrified sobs racking through his body. Emma's warm sticky blood soaked through Chandler's shirt. Remnants of chewed-up mac & cheese trickled out of his nostrils.


	3. State Intervention

**STATE INTERVENTION**

With sirens blaring and blue lights flashing, an ambulance pulled up in front of Monica and Chandler's house. The paramedics burst through the front door loaded first aid kits and a stretcher. Shoving past Chandler, they crouched on the floor, surrounding the limp bleeding little girl. The paramedics bandaged Emma up, taking pains not to touch the knife, which they left impaled in her midriff.

Slipping the stretcher underneath Emma, they gently hauled her into the ambulance. Lifting his children into his arms, Chandler stumbled after the paramedics, ready to climb into the ambulance with Emma. The paramedics stared at Chandler warily, whispering urgently to each other. A paramedic hopped off the ambulance and hastily blocked entry into the vehicle, eyeing Chandler coldly.

"I think it best you stay put. We've got it from here," the paramedic said coolly.

The paramedic climbed into ambulance, slammed the door shut, and the ambulance sped off. Once out of the driveway, the paramedic called the police to report a suspected murder attempt. Chandler stumbled back into the house. His knees gave way, and he collapsed onto the living room floor. With shaky hands, he dialed Rachel's number. Anxiety washed over Rachel when she heard Chandler's subdued sobs.

"It's Emma, she's impaled with a knife, the paramedics rushed her to St Vincent's-"

Rachel dropped the phone out of her hand, leaving it dangling by its wire. Chandler could hear rustling paper, the hasty shuffling of feet and the slamming of a door. Chandler hung up, and dialled Ross's number. Rachel snatched her handbag off the table, and raced out of the office, stumbling on her black stilettos. Shoving her perplexed colleagues aside, she ran out onto the street and leaped in front of a speeding cab. The cab screeched to a halt, inches away from hitting her. The driver unwound his window, eyes wide with shock.

"You fucking insane, lady? I could've killed you!" the cab driver roared.

Rachel leaped into the cab, stating the address. Seeing Rachel's pale frightened face, the cab driver knew instantly it was an emergency, and accordingly, hurried off. In the cab, confusion swilled through Rachel's mind. Impaled with a knife? When? How? Why? She understood nothing, and hadn't the time to ask. Knowing her child's welfare was the only thing she could afford to think about right now, she set her mind on survival mode. Questions about Chandler would have to wait.

_Goddamit, why wasn't Monica picking up her phone? Pick up, for Christ's sake! _

Chandler slammed the phone down for the umpteenth time, and redialed. He had notified Ross and Rachel, and both were now well on their way to the hospital. He needed desperately to talk to his wife, because right now, slumped against the couch, cradling his children, his shirt coated in dried vomit and a sticky layer of Emma's blood, he felt he had a very tenuous hold on his sanity, like he would very soon die of the panic attack that was rising from the pit of his stomach.

_Oh God, __what if she dies? What if I've killed her? What if? _

The thought threatened to consume him. Jack and Erica cuddled up to Chandler. Sensing their father's distress, they were quiet, subdued, and visibly anxious. Jack sucked his thumb nervously. Erica buried her face in Chandler's blood soaked shirt.

The twins burst into terrified wails as two police officers kicked the front door down. Marching up to Chandler, the police pried the twins out of Chandler's arms. The twins grasped tightly onto Chandler's shirt, screaming hysterically as the officers pulled them away from their father. Officer Lam held onto the twins as they thrashed about in her arms. She rocked them gently back and forth, trying to calm them down.

Officer Healy hauled Chandler to his feet, stating curtly, "You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you at the State's expense."

"You've got to contact my wife, I need to see her! She's at work right now. She's the Head Chef up at Javu, her work number is 212-564-5380. Please, you've got to call her," Chandler pleaded with Healy.

"You got that number down, Lam? You go call the wife. Woman to woman, you'd do a better job talking to her than I would," Healy barked condescendingly.

With two screaming toddlers in tow, Officer Lam scribbled Monica's number down. Healy handcuffed Chandler's wrists, led him out of the house, and into a police car. Chandler pressed his nose against the window watching the policeman try in vain to quell Erica and Jack's crying. Curious neighbours peered furtively over their fences, stunned to see apparently friendly, law-abiding Mr Bing get arrested.


	4. Joey babysits

**JOEY BABYSITS**

Sweat lined Monica's brow, as she doused the wok in oil. The wok burst into angry orange flames, searing the scallops golden brown. Monica tipped her plump fragrant scallops onto a plate and drizzled them with horseradish sauce. A waiter swooped in, grabbed the plate, and rushed out of the kitchen. Glancing at her list of orders, Monica set to work on the next one. A waitress approached Monica tentatively.

"Someone's on the phone for you."

"Tell them I'm busy."

"It's the police." Concerned, Monica told her sous-chef to take over, and hurried out of the kitchen. She grabbed the phone at the reception.

"Is Chandler hurt?" she demanded anxiously.

"No ma'am. Your husband is fine. We're calling because we've taken him into custody. We're at your house and your two children, Jack and Erica, are safe and sound with us. We-"

Confused, Monica interrupted agitatedly, "Wait, what? In custody? Why would my husband be in custody? What do you mean, two kids? Where's the third? Isn't Emma with you? Look, I don't understand!" Monica felt dizzy with confusion.

"Come to your house immediately, and we'll explain everything."

Still dressed in her chef's uniform, Monica tore out of the restaurant, and waved a cab down. Monica threw some notes at the cab driver, telling him to keep the change, as she jumped out of the cab. Her eyes widened in bewilderment, as she saw a police car parked outside her house, a small group of police officers congregated in her garden, and a long yellow crime scene tape cordoning off her house. My God, it was like a scene from CSI. Disoriented, she stumbled across her lawn, towards the group of policemen.

"My children…" she croaked.

Officer Lam passed her twins to her. Both were asleep after expending all their energy crying. Monica whimpered, as she saw the dried blood on their clothes and faces.

"Don't worry, it's not their blood, it's someone else's. They're perfectly fine, they're just sleeping." Monica breathed a sigh of relief, as she cradled her twins. Relief was quickly replaced with fear.

"Whose blood is it?" she asked quietly.

A million questions raced through her head, but she figured the most important issue right now, was determining which poor soul had bled all over her children. Monica swayed unsteadily on her feet. Officer Lam grasped her arm, steadying her, and directed her into a lawn chair. Lam pulled another lawn chair up to Monica, sat down, and began his explanation.

"Paramedics found your friend's daughter, Emma Greene, unconscious and bleeding profusely from a knife wound. They rushed her to hospital. Her parents are with her as we speak. Granted, your husband was the one who called the paramedics, but seeing as he was the only adult present immediately after the stabbing, we had no choice but to take him into custody. We're questioning him at the police station, and will hold him for 24 hours. I'll be honest with you, Mrs Bing, the circumstances are extremely suspicious. I strongly suggest you get an attorney immediately." Monica's face grew pale, and she massaged her temples with shaky hands, trying to absorb this hailstorm of frightening information.

"Let me just call someone to look after my kids, then I want to see my husband." Monica couldn't call her parents because they were interstate. It was a toss-up between Phoebe and Joey. Neither were particularly responsible adults, but one would have to do.

"Joey, I need you to look after my kids for a few hours. Something serious has come up. Can I drop them at your place?"

Joey heard the quavering urgency in Monica's voice, and refrained from asking what the matter was. Whatever it was, it Monica clearly hadn't the time or presence of mind to explain. He hastily agreed. Joey sat at the foot of his apartment steps. Butterflies fluttered in his belly. Monica's unhinged voice, told him something terrible was going on. A police car pulled up in front of his apartment block. Monica stepped out, hurriedly pushing the sleeping children into Joey's arms. Holy shit, they were covered in blood.

_The fuck is going on? _

Before he could demand an explanation, Monica turned on her heel, hastily climbed back into the police car, which sped off. Cold sweat beaded Joey's forehead. The children looked seriously injured. Were they unconscious? Sitting on the pavement, he tore their jumpsuits off, turning them over and over, searching desperately for the source of the bleeding. He decided he would use their jumpsuits as bandages to stem the blood flow.

The twins woke up with a start, and began crying at the top of their lungs. Joey felt faint with relief to find out they were alive and kicking. Passerbys glanced nervously at Joey, whispering urgently amongst themselves, as he manhandled two screaming naked bloodied babies. Noticing the unwanted attention, Joey rushed the crying twins up to his apartment, in case passerbys called the police for child abuse. Joey placed the babies in the sink, gently washing the blood away from their bodies with warm tap water and soap.

The warm water calmed them down, and they stopped wailing. There was not a single mark on Jack and Erica's bodies, they were perfectly fine. This was someone else's blood. Joey dried the babies, wrapping them in blankets, for lack of baby clothes. He made a makeshift dinner by squashing bananas to a pulp. Spooning the banana into the twins' mouths, he was consumed with a single thought…

_God help the person whose blood this is._


	5. Tenblade

**TEN-BLADE**

Ross and Rachel sat side by side, holding hands in the waiting room. Both were decked out in their office clothes; looking messy and dishevelled. They stared straight ahead, stoic, tight-lipped, tense and lightheaded with anticipation. Ross glanced at the clock every few seconds. Time crawled by painfully slowly. Rachel's feet bloomed with blisters from her frantic running in stilettoes.

Ross ran through tomorrow's lecture on effective carbon-dating practices in his head, trying in vain to distract himself from the blinding terror bearing down on him. Should they call the others, Phoebe, Joey and Monica? They decided against it. It was all too complicated, what with Chandler being mutual friends with the three. Neither knew exactly how they felt about Chandler right now, but both knew for certain they had no desire to see him right now. At least not until they found out exactly what had happened in that house.

Ross and Rachel felt impotent. There was nothing they could do to help their daughter. Everything was up to fate, God, the surgeons operating on her fragile little body. They refused to cry. To do so was to pre-empt that their child was a lost cause. It was too early to cry. Crying was for parents of the dead. Their daughter was alive. She was alive and fighting. Dr Montgomery had said Emma had a fighting chance. The knife had missed her heart and lungs. Had it pierced her heart, she would've died instantly. Had it pierced her lungs, she would've drowned in her own blood.

Instead, it had pierced her liver. Well, actually, it had completely shredded it. Not to mention the extensive damage to her kidneys, stomach and small intestine. Their poor daughter, their poor sweet innocent beautiful baby girl was facing possible death, or an inevitably arduous road to recovery. If Emma was lucky enough to survive, how many surgeries would be needed to piece her back together again? Dr Montgomery walked into the waiting room. Ross and Rachel stood up quickly.

"Emma's alive. The surgery went as well as can be expected. We reconnected her severed small intestine, closed the perforation in her stomach wall and in her abdominal muscles. Unfortunately we had to remove one kidney, as it was beyond repair. But young children are resilient, so I don't doubt that she can survive and go on to lead a normal life with just one kidney." Dr Montgomery said.

"So Em's gonna be okay?" Rachel asked weakly, holding onto Ross for support.

"At this point in time, it is too soon to tell. What I'm concerned about is her liver. She's a small child, and that was a very large knife we pulled out of her. Her liver took the brunt of the force, and we were able to save very little of it. Her survival hinges heavily on how well she copes with what little liver she has left. Only time will tell. She's in the ICU now, if you want to see her. She's unconscious for now. We've kept her sedated, so her body has time to process today's trauma. We handed the knife to the police department. Do you have any questions?"

Ross and Rachel shook their heads slightly. "Alright then, I have another surgery to get to, but if you have any questions at all, please don't hesitate to inform one of the nurses, and I'll get back to you as soon as possible." Dr Montgomery shook Ross and Rachel's hands, and walked away.

Ross stood rooted to the spot, feeling numb and hollow. This whole experience felt unreal. It was like he was watching his life from space, like this was somebody else's pain, not his. He felt removed, like a spectator in an arena, like a ghost. His mind could process none of this. Rachel collapsed into Ross's arms, weeping loudly, her head imploding in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Joy and relief that her daughter was alive; suffocating grief at her child's loss of a kidney and of most her liver; mind-boggling confusion as to how this happened under Chandler's watch.

Drying her eyes on Ross's shirt, Rachel pulled away from Ross, and the two walked hand in hand to the ICU. Ross gasped when he saw Emma, so small, so pale, so fragile, lying in a giant bed, with numerous tubes snaking up and down her body. Ross collapsed in a chair next to Emma's bed, and for the first time since he arrived at the hospital, waves of emotions began to hit him. He rested his forehead on Emma's little hand, his wounded-animal weeping carrying along the quiet corridors. Rachel rested her head on Ross's hunched shoulders, letting her tears rolls silently down her cheek.


	6. Custody

**CUSTODY**

Chandler sat stiffly in the cold bare claustrophobic room. He shivered. Emma's blood was evaporating off his shirt, making him chilly. His handcuffs chaffed his wrists. He reeked of blood, sweat and vomit. Constable Vaughn sat before him, nose wrinkled against the stench, pen poised over a notepad.

"Do you want an attorney present during this interview? You're legally entitled to one." Chandler shook his head, indifferent towards his fate. Emma was dying, or possibly dead, so who gave a shit what happened to him? He certainly didn't. He could rot in prison for the rest of his life, for all he cared. He was beyond caring.

"Fine, tell me what happened today." Chandler took a deep breath, recounting the events to the best of his ability. Scribbling away at his notepad, Vaughn maintained a poker face, giving nothing away.

"Alright, Mr Bing, that'll do for today. Legally, we're entitled to hold you in custody for 48 hours, before we're obliged to release you. We will keep you in custody for 24 hours, while we collect evidence from your person and your house. Don't be alarmed, this is just protocol to prevent suspects from tampering with evidence. Those with nothing to hide, have nothing to fear. Your wife is outside this room waiting for you. A police officer will escort her into this room to see you. She's brought a set of clean clothing for you." Vaughn handed Chandler a set of toiletries.

"You'll have 20 minutes to speak to your wife; then a guard will escort you to the shower block. We'll collect your soiled clothes for evidentiary purposes. Then you will be taken to your holding cell."

Chandler closed his eyes and rested his cheek against the cool metal table, grateful to be seeing Monica. Monica. Brave, wise, sensible, strong Monica. His lighthouse in the storm. She would know what to do; she would hold the fort; she would stop his world from crumbling. Vaughn thought Bing's story sounded plausible. All there was to do now was to collect the evidence, and see if it corroborated his story. And God willing, if the child survived, her testimony would be conclusive evidence of Bing's guilt or innocence. With cool distant eyes, Vaughn appraised the crumpled man before him, searching for behavioural signs of murderous intent. Officer Lam ushered Monica into the room. She gasped as a wave of stench assaulted her. Chandler looked as awful as he smelt. Shoulders hunched, skin pale, eyes swollen from crying.

"Perhaps we'll leave the door open to air out the room," Constable Vaughn muttered, stepping out of the room. Monica sat down, placing a set of clean clothes on the table. She took Chandler's hands in hers, squeezing them tightly. Feeling ashamed, Chandler stared at his feet, avoiding eye contact. Monica placed her hand beneath his chin, tilting his head upwards till it was level with hers. She spoke in a kind, but firm voice.

"Look at me, Chandler. Look. At. Me." Monica said emphatically. Chandler reluctantly met her gaze.

"Is she alive?" he whispered.

"I don't know… I-I kept trying to call Ross and Rachel, but they wouldn't pick up…"

Chandler buried his face in his handcuffed hands, murmuring "She's dead isn't she? I probably killed her. I killed Emma. I'm a killer, a murderer." Monica pulled Chandler's hands away from his face, grasping him firmly by the shoulders. She stared at him squarely in the eyes, her voice laced with ferocity.

"No, don't say that, you don't know that she's—. Look, I know you feel guilty, but it was an accident. You left a dishwasher open, it was an honest mistake. It could've happened to anyone. If I had a penny for every time my staff left a knife pointing upwards. Chan, I know your habits; you take quick showers, five minutes tops. That's how long you averted your eyes from her. Five minutes, that's nothing. The house was child-proofed down to a T, so don't kill yourself with blame. And don't you ever refer to yourself as a murderer again. Now is not the time to throw words like 'murderer' around casually. When you do that, you're incriminating yourself for a crime you didn't commit. The police are insinuating attempted murder. There are whispers in the wind that you stabbed her in a moment of stress or frustration. The minute I walk out of here, I'm getting us the best lawyer money can buy. But you have got to meet me halfway. Don't say anything that gives people reason to doubt your innocence, and-"

Chandler stared at Monica in bewilderment, "Mon, stop."

Monica opened her mouth to speak, "DAMMIT, MONICA, STOP IT!" Chandler yelled angrily. Monica stared at him shell-shocked. Pressing his fingers over his closed eyes, he continued in a softer voice.

"My God, Monica, do you realise you haven't mentioned Emma's name, not once? All I'm hearing is this cold and clinical talk about liability, lawyers, police. This isn't you. It scares, me, it's like you couldn't care less about her." Monica's eyes brimmed with tears, her voice cracking with hurt.

"You don't think I care, Chandler? She's my niece, my brother's child; I love her to pieces, and I am scared to death!"

"I know, I know you are, I'm sorry Mon, you should go. Em needs you," Chandler whispered.

Monica shook her head, "Do you know how many people are caring for Emma right now? Loving her, fighting for her? Her parents, my parents, Rachel's parents and sisters, Susan, Carol, Ben, Phoebe, Joey, a team of doctors, the police force, the State Prosecutor! I'm sure Dr Greene is at the hospital right now whipping his colleagues into action, you know what he's like; he's going to make sure his granddaughter gets the best medical care humanly possible. And do you know who's looking out for you?" Chandler watched Monica mutely.

"No one. Except for me. Chandler, I love you, and I'm gonna be here fighting for you, whether you like it or not. So you can accuse me of being a lousy aunt, but I sure as hell am not going to be a lousy wife." Chandler saw the fierce, resolute fire in Monica's eyes, and knew right immediately, there would be no negotiating with her.


	7. 24 Hours

**24 HOURS **

Constable Vaughn wandered around the premises, making sure he had photographed every nook and cranny of the house. Crouching on the floor, he picked up a single strand of blonde hair with his tweezers, and dropped it into his plastic evidentiary tube. He ran through the list of evidence he had in his possession. A bloodied Barbie doll, strands of hair, swabs of blood, the offending knife, and the girl's clothes. Now all he needed was Bing's soiled clothing, cheek swabs and fingerprints.

* * *

Chandler cringed, a communal shower with naked inmates. Well, anything was better than remaining in these putrid clothes. Averting his eyes from the other prisoners, Chandler stripped off, dropped his clothes into the evidentiary zip-lock bag, and turned the water on. He let it drum soothingly against his back, as it washed Emma off him.

Blood and vomit stained the water muddy brown, as it swilled down the drain. With his prison soap, Chandler furiously scoured every inch of his skin raw, desperately trying to scrub his guilt away. Squeezing out all of the toothpaste from his mini prison toothpaste tube, he scrubbed his teeth, his tongue, the insides of his cheeks. Turning his face to the shower, he gargled the shower water, purging away the rancid taste of spew.

Towelling himself dry and pulling on the clothes Monica had passed to him, he stepped out of the shower and handed his zip-locked evidence to the prison guard. The guard escorted him to a room, where Officer Healy sat waiting for him. Healy pressed Chandler's thumbs into a pad of black ink, and onto a sheet of paper. He swabbed the insides of Chandler's cheeks with a Q-tip, dropping it into a plastic tube.

A guard escorted Chandler to his cell. The guard opened the cell door, pushing Chandler inside, locking the door behind him. Chandler's eyes widened as he did a double-take of surprise at the familiar face before him.

"Gandalf?" Seated on the floor, with his back against the wall, Gandalf let out a low whistle.

"Wow, I haven't been called that in years. Chandler-Muriel-fucking-Bing. Been years since I saw you last! Never pegged you as the type to get your ass thrown in jail. Man, you look like shit." Chandler seated himself shoulder to shoulder, next to Gandalf.

"Right back at you, my friend," Chandler said, smiling sadly.

And Gandalf did look shit, really shit. His eyes were bloodshot, his pupils dilated so widely it almost wholly consumed his green irises. His body quivered uncontrollably, his paper-white face shimmered with sweat.

"Yeah, well, I'm kinda in a bad way, got the shakes. Police caught me high, and chucked me in here to sober up. It's killing me. Swear to God, I feel fucking crook, never gone this long without a line."

Seeing Gandalf this way saddened Chandler. The guy had always been a partier, but never in a million years did Chandler think he would descend into drug addiction. So this is what had become of them in the decade since university: a drug addict and a killer. Chandler watched his old friend sadly.

"I'm sorry Gandalf," Chandler whispered sadly.

Gandalf shrugged, "It is what it is. Let this be a lesson to you, Chanandler Bong. Stay away from the white powder." Gandalf closed his eyes, tilting his head back against the wall, his face tense with discomfort.

"So, what are you in for?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Suit yourself."

"Get help, Gandalf. Go to a clinic, go to rehab. Just go. Your problem's reversible," Chandler said softly.

Gandalf turned curiously to Chandler, "And yours isn't?" Chandler shook his head slightly.

Gandalf chuckled bitterly, "What the fuck did you do, Chandler Bing."

And that was the end of their conversation. The two men sat side by side, pensively silent, both consumed in their own private hell. Dead tired and emotionally spent, Chandler drifted off into a shallow restless sleep.

He saw Emma, ghostly pale with blue-tinged lips. She lay in a white wooden box, arms folded neatly across her chest. Ross and Rachel circled her, their sobs echoing across the cold empty church. A pool of blood blossomed at Emma's coffin. It travelled rapidly across the white marble floor like terminal cancer, flooding the entire church. From a distance, Chandler heard Emma scream for him, persistent, unrelenting, terrified, shrill.

"Uncle Chan; Uncle Chan; Uncle Chan; Uncle Chan; Uncle Chan; Chandler; Chandler; wake up; wake up; you're having a nightmare!"

Coming to, Chandler saw Gandalf's worried face inches from his, and felt Gandalf's iron grip on his shoulders, rattling him like a doll. Drenched in cold sweat, Chandler squinted at the strips of morning sunlight filtering through the barred window.


	8. Sticky Shoes

**STICKY SHOES**

The poor dear looked terribly fragile. Her skin was translucent, tubes passed through her spindly arms, and a breathing mask covered her tiny face. Phoebe strummed gently on her pastel blue guitar, singing softly to the unconscious child.

"My favourite shoes so good to me, I wear them everyday. Down at the heel, holes in the toe, don't care what people say…"

Phoebe's heart skipped a beat as she saw the tiniest of movements: the twitching of a single index finger. With heart racing, she continued singing.

"My feet's best friend, pals to the end, with them I'm one hot chicky…"

Emma continued to stir; her little hands and legs shifted, her head turned slightly to the side. Butterflies fluttered in Phoebe's stomach, the child was waking up. With Ross and Rachel at the hospital cafeteria, Phoebe was the only one witnessing this seminal moment. Phoebe continued singing, willing Emma to wake.

"Though late one night, not much light, I stepped on something icky…"

Emma was trapped in the twilight zone between consciousness and unconsciousness. Trying to move her limbs was like swimming through treacle. Her thoughts were scattered, she was lost in a fog of pitch black darkness. Emma heard a soft muffled musical sound, and a mumbling voice. She latched onto it eagerly, relying on it to guide her into consciousness. She channeled all her thoughts and energies into that one sound, tuning everything else out. It sounded familiar, that voice, that tune. As the haze in her mind began to clear, she was able to make out the individual words, "Sticky shoes, sticky shoes, always make me smile, sticky shoes, sticky shoes, I'll avoid the pile."

Watching Emma closely, Phoebe continued singing, feeling certain her music was guiding the child back into the waking world. Eventually, Emma's eyes fluttered open; and a long groan of discomfort escaped her lips. Phoebe's voice cracked with emotion, as she struggled to continue singing.

"Sticky sticky shoes, always make me smile, sticky stick shoes, I'll avoid the pile..." Confused and disoriented, Emma groped drowsily at the air. Putting her guitar down, Phoebe grasped Emma's hands in hers, and pressed it against her cheek.

She continued singing, "My favourite shoes so good to me, I wear them everyday…"

When Emma saw the familiar face before her, her anxiety ebbed away, and a drowsy calm settled over her. Aunt Pheebs. Feeling lightheaded from the morphine, she closed her eyes and let the soothing singing wash over her. Having listened to Aunt Pheebs since she was born, she was Phoebe's biggest fan. She knew the lyrics to most of Phoebe's songs off by heart. In fact, Sticky Shoes was her number one favourite.

"Down at the heel, holes in the toe, don't care what people say," Emma drowsily mouthed the words to herself.

At the hospital cafeteria, Ross and Rachel polished off their coffees and prepared themselves for another arduous night watching over Emma. They walked hand in hand back to Emma's room. At Emma's door, they fell into silent awe, mesmerised by the sight before them: a pair of tiny hands clapping to the sound of Phoebe's voice.

"Sticky shoes, sticky shoes, always make me smile."


	9. Freud

**FREUD**

Emma nibbled gingerly on the giant cookie Monica had made her. It was the size of a dinner plate, dotted with colourful Smarties, with 'Get well soon, Princess Em!' written on it in baby pink icing. Usually Emma loved Monica's home-made giant smarties cookies, but today she wasn't in the mood. She felt exhausted, irritable and groggy from her arduous recovery. Lacking appetite, Emma dropped the partially eaten giant cookie on the plate. Monica swept stray crumbs with her hands, off Emma's bed, and held a Barbie doll in front of Emma's face.

"Hi Emma, I'm Chef Barbie, I love to cook. I baked that giant cookie for you!"

Emma glared at Monica defiantly, "No you didn't, aunt Monica did!" Ignoring Emma's combative comment, Monica continued in character.

"Cooking is my favourite activity! What's your favourite activity?"

Emma eyed Monica moodily, mumbling, "Dancing. But I can't cos grown-ups says I gotta stay in bed." Disgruntled, Emma crossed her arms and pouted.

"Sure you can. I know! Why don't we both dance together?" Monica pulled out a second Barbie pressing it into Emma's hand. Monica manoeuvred her doll, making it do repeated high kicks in the air.

"C'mon Emma, do the Can-Can dance with me!" Emma watched Monica morosely.

"I bet you can't do summersaults like I can!" Monica called out, as she set the doll into a starfish position and flipped it over numerous times. Emma stuck her tongue out at Monica.

"I can too!" Emma yelled belligerently.

"I bet you can't, you'll have to prove it, to convince me!" Monica retorted. Emma flipped her doll many times as fast as she could, her brow furrowed in concentration. Emma waved her doll in the air triumphantly.

"See! I did sum-saults more faster than yours, haha!" Emma gloated, a wide smile on her face. Monica was relieved to see the little girl cheer up.

Joey stood in the doorway smiling, "So, you feeling better, Em?"

"Uncle Joey!" Emma squealed with delight, "Yes, I was playing Barbies with aunty Mon! I showed my Barbie can do more sum-saults than her one, I won!"

Monica kissed Emma's forehead, "You certainly did, Em. I have to go to work now, you two have fun!" Monica squeezed Joey's shoulder and left the room.

"How come everytime I see you and says sing 'Freud', you neverdo?" Emma demanded.

"It's kind of a... um... dodgy song, I mean, I don't want your parents to get mad at me," Joey said uncomfortably.

"Awww pleeeaaaasseeee! I thought you were funner, uncle Joey! Please sing it! Pretty please! Sing 'Freud'!" Emma badgered, tugging at Joey's shirt. Emma winced, as her over-exertion sent a lash of pain across her abdomen. She clutched her belly, gritting her teeth. Joey grasped Emma's shoulders, steadying her.

"Em, don't move around too much, you're still healing," he said in alarm. Recovering, Emma sat up, folded her arms across her chest and pouted.

"Sing 'Freud', sing it! Do it!" she commanded. Not wanting Emma to over-exert herself again, Joey reluctantly obliged.

"All you want is a dingle, what you envy's a schwang. A thing through which you can tinkle, or play with, or simply let hang…" he sang softly.

He glanced around the hospital tentatively. He felt self-conscious at this somewhat inappropriate song. Emma giggled. Joey hadn't heard that glorious sound from Emma since the accident. Anything that could make this broken child laugh, was worth all the impropriety in the world. Throwing caution to the wind, Joey leapt to his feet, and pranced around the room in a comical Broadway dance, singing at the top of his lungs. Emma clapped her little hands excitedly to the beat of the music. She tipped over, laughing uncontrollably, when Joey did a poor attempt at tap dancing. He tapped his uncoordinated feet all around Emma's hospital room, spinning around theatrically till he got dizzy.

Ross and Rachel stood in the doorway with puzzled look of surprise on their faces. Joey stopped in his tracks, falling anxiously silent. He really didn't want to upset them, not after all that they had been through. Ross and Rachel looked at each other, both breaking out into a grin. Ross, grabbed Rachel's hand, dragging her into the room.

"All you want is a dingle, what you envy's a schwang…" Ross and Rachel sang loudly.

Rachel grabbed Joey's hand, and the three friends burst into song and dance. Their mirthful voices carried down the hospital corridor. Sitting up in bed, Emma waved her little fists in the air, jiving to sounds of 'Freud'. She giggled with delight. Ross, Rachel and Joey felt ecstatic seeing Emma's face light up with happiness.

Emma joined in, bungling up the difficult lyrics, "Oh you want izzer winkle, whazzoo envy a wang. A fing flew which you can pinkle, or play wif, or simply let pang!" She clapped with hands with glee.

Joey thought back to the time he auditioned for a Broadway musical, but lied that he had extensive dance experience. He cringed at the memory of the dance instructor teaching a set of dance moves at the speed of light, and instructing him to teach the other actors. Joey remembered exactly five moves. He performed them for Emma. _"Hand, Hand, Head, Head, Up... Jazz Hands!"_

"Oh my God, Joey, I can't believe you're doing your God-awful Jazz-hands Broadway musical dance!" Rachel exclaimed, amidst fits of laughter.

"Oh sure, make fun, but I bet you can't make your girl laugh as much as I can!" Joey announced proudly, pointing at Emma, who was shrieking with laughter.

Ross and Rachel hastily joined in Joey's dancing, throwing out their hands to the sides and wiggling their fingers theatrically, singing Freud at the top of their lungs. A few doctors and nurses peaked into Emma's room, to see what the commotion was all about. They smiled widely, seeing little Emma and her loved ones all having the time of their lives, dancing, singing, laughing. As Joey, Ross and Rachel's ridiculous singing carried down the hallway, numerous severely ill and bed-ridden children, smiled and giggled to themselves.


	10. Vultures

**LIKE VULTURES**

"We've been trying to get a witness statement from your daughter for two weeks now, but she consistently refuses to answer any of our questions." Constable Vaughn commented.

"What do you expect? She's only four years old. Ever since she's woken up, you people have been on her like vultures," Ross said testily. Lately, his temper had been getting the better of him. He was just so overwhelmed with stress, sleep-deprivation and anxiety. Emma's struggle to recover was taking a toll on him.

Vaughn appraised Ross silently. Taking a deep breath, Ross continued in a calmer voice. "Rachel and I have been trying really hard to get Emma out of the woods, and we can't do that when we're constantly surrounded by authorities. We need a little privacy."

"At the expense of seeking justice for your daughter?"

Ross bristled at the comment. "What? No, that's not what I meant! I'm saying my number one priority is for Emma to get better, and she can't if she's constantly harassed by you people!" Ross's face flushed with indignation.

Vaughn put his palms up defensively, "Alright, okay Mr Geller, I apologise. Given Emma survived, her testimony is effectively conclusive evidence of how she sustained her injuries; so the only thing of value I can do, is to push for her testimony. The prosecution refuses to move ahead with this case unless I collect that statement. So really, we've got the entire judiciary waiting on your child, so forgive me for being a tad pushy." Ross fumed with irritation at this arrogant, insensitive prick. His daughter needed space, and it had become clear to Ross that this asshole wasn't going to give it to her.

"I can sense what's going on here. Chandler Bing is your friend, so you're in no hurry for criminal charges to be laid against him." Ross raised his eyes in surprise at Vaughn's insightfully accurate judgement.

"My sister told us what happened; Rach and I know it was an accident. Believe me, I'm struggling to forgive him, but he's still my friend, and I'm certain he's innocent of whatever it is you're accusing him of. And honestly, my daughter isn't coping well with all this attention."

"If you're certain he's innocent, you should encourage Emma to speak to us, because one word from her that she wasn't knifed by his hand, and we'll drop the case against Mr Bing. But until then, it is my responsibility to the State, and to this little girl, is to pursue this matter. I don't enjoy harassing your family, but I need Emma's statement. The sooner she speaks, the sooner I'll be out of your hair."

"You're just so hell-bent on pinning Chandler for this, aren't you?" Ross shook his head slowly, whispering in bewilderment.

"The only thing I'm _hell-bent_ on, Mr Geller, is determining the truth. I would be careful not to form snap judgements about anyone's guilt or innocence. It's not outside the realm of possibility for a man of good standing to lash out at a child in a moment of stress; then call an ambulance in regret. It's a situation I've come across frequently in my line of work."

"Well, it's not the situation here! He didn't stab my child, that's just bloody ridiculous!" Ross yelled with exasperation.

"I don't want to quarrel with you, Mr Geller. Just know that you'll speed up my departure and Mr Bing's exoneration by encouraging Emma to speak. Good day." Vaughn extended his hand. Ross reluctantly shook it. Vaughn turned on his heel and left the hospital.

* * *

That night, Ross launched into a deep discussion with Rachel. "The police seem convinced Chandler stabbed Em. We really need to persuade her to tell us what happened, to clear his name."

Rachel nodded soberly, "I'm really… frustrated, really angry at him for not watching Em, he would've saved us so much pain, if he had just… watched her properly, I wish I'd asked someone else to babysit, I wish he could've just… but despite all that, somehow, I still… I love him, he's still one of our best friends, and it would be really screwed up if he went to jail for this. It's not what I want, it's not what Emma wants; we can't let that happen…" Rachel struggled to put her painful mixed feelings for Chandler into words. Ross pulled Rachel into his arms, cradling her close to him.

"Yeah, I feel the same way Rach," he whispered sadly. Keeping perfectly still, Emma pretended to be asleep, attentively eavesdropping on her parents' conversation.


	11. Memory Lapse

**MEMORY LAPSE **

Chandler called Ross and Rachel for the umpteenth time. He had been trying to call them for weeks, but they were avoiding his calls. He had now established a rotational routine. He would call Ross's mobile phone, then Rachel's, then their house phone, and repeat the cycle. He wondered if they hated him; if they believed he stabbed Emma. The thought made his heart constrict with pain. He couldn't get any information out of Monica, Phoebe or Joey, because Chandler was effectively a taboo topic where Ross and Rachel were concerned.

Chandler was consumed with a single thought all day, every day: his guilt. Through updates from Monica, Joey and Phoebe, he knew Emma was enduring a slow and painful journey towards recovery. Her condition was highly precarious, her health was extremely poor. Chandler was drowning in guilt, and didn't know what to do but to call and call again, begging Ross and Rachel to talk to him. His children, disturbed by his neurotic behaviour, kept their distance from him. Chandler dialled Rachel's number.

"Hello?"

"Rach, it's me, please don't hang up!" Chandler raced breathlessly through his words.

"Chandler, I can't do this right now." She sounded flat and emotionally spent.

"Rachel, I'm so s-"

"Seriously Chandler, I just can't."

And with that, the line went dead. Chandler cradled the phone to his chest, feeling grateful he had finally made progress in reaching out to Ross and Rachel. For the first time since the accident, Rachel hadn't hung up immediately; she had actually spoken to him. He knew it would be years before they trusted him again, but today's very brief conversation, was a good start.

Constable Vaughn leaned into Emma. Emma was sick of his repetitive questions. Rachel kissed Emma's hand reassuringly, speaking in a soothing voice.

"Em, sweety, the policeman needs you to tell him how you got hurt." Emma remained mute. Rachel stroked her hair tenderly.

"Em, honey, mommy would be so proud if you could tell the policeman what happened. Can you be a big brave girl, and do that for mommy?"

Emma watched Rachel's pale pleading face sadly. These days, mommy always looked so sad. She missed the old mommy, happy cheerful jolly funny mommy. She wanted so badly to make mommy happy, but she knew full well, that when Vaughn asked his questions, she wouldn't know the answer to any of them.

Vaughn appraised her coolly, "Emma, how did you get hurt by a knife?"

Emma kept her little lips pursed tightly shut. Her brow furrowed in concentration. _How I got hurt? How I got hurt?_ The question blared through her mind like a siren. It was the hardest question ever! She could not, for the life of her, remember. One minute she had dropped her Barbie in the dishwasher, and was leaning over to pick it up; the next minute she was lying in bed, surrounded by a circle of doctors.

Vaughn repeated his question. Emma crossed her arms across her chest, remaining silent. Vaughn repeated himself over and over, his voice laced with barely concealed irritation. Feeling like a deer caught in headlights, Emma let out a long angry shrill yell.

"Raaaaaaaaaaarrrghh!" She drummed her little fists against her pillow, her face turning pink with exertion. Emma's temper tantrum was in full swing. Rachel hastily ushered Vaughn out of the room. She rushed back to Emma, pulled Emma into her arms, rocking her back and forth.

"Shhhhhhh…" Rachel whispered soothingly into Emma's hair. Emma buried her face in Rachel's blouse, relieved the third degree was over.

In the middle of the night, watching Emma sleep, Rachel felt a strange vacancy in her heart. Trying to figure out the source of her emptiness, she was stunned to realise what it was. She missed Chandler. She picked up her mobile phone, scrolled down the contact list to "Chandler Bing". Her index finger hovered over the dial button; she wanted so badly to speak to her friend. She really missed his sardonic voice, and witty one-liners.

But then she looked at her sleeping child, so fragile, so broken, and she remembered it was _his_ lapse in judgement that had destroyed her child. Feeling terribly guilty for almost calling Chandler, Rachel turned off her phone, and shoved it in the drawer.


	12. Night Terrors

**NIGHT TERRORS **

Recovering from her fourth surgery since the accident, Emma winced as she sat up in bed. Her midriff killed. Every time she moved, white hot pain whipped across her abdomen. She was too exhausted to scream, too exhausted to cry. A thick bandage was wrapped around her torso. She wondered what was beneath it. Was it super gory, like on tv? Too bad she couldn't find out. Every time she tried to prise it open to peek, a grown-up would grab her hand and chide her. What were all these blasted plastic tubes stuck all over her body? The worst were the ones in her nose, so uncomfortable. She was desperate to yank the bothersome obstruction out, but once again, the infuriating grown-ups prevented her from doing so.

Why were her parents hurting her? Why were they forcing her to endure something so physically painful? She couldn't understand. It terrified and confused her. No matter how much she pleaded with her parents, they would not allow her to avoid surgery. Sure, they would kiss her, hug her, weep, apologise, placate, but what did it matter, when at the end of the day, despite her begging, they would force her to undergo surgery? Her parents constantly told her she needed surgery to get better, but it had become clear to her, that they were lying through their teeth. Surgery did not make her better; it made her feel positively awful!

Late at night, when her parents thought she was asleep, they would launch into long discussions about Uncle Chandler, saying weird scary stuff like "The police think Chandler stabbed Emma on purpose"; "They're going to charge Chandler with attempted murder"; "They think Chandler lost his temper"; "The constable seems convinced of Chandler's guilt". During these disturbing discussions, Emma would shut her eyes tight and lay as still as possible, pretending to be asleep, while she listened intently to her parents' conversation. She could almost memorise their conversations off by heart. It was always something or rather about Uncle Chandler stabbing her with a knife.

She could not, for the life of her, remember what had happened on the day of the accident, but somehow, her beloved Uncle Chan stabbing her, didn't seem quite outside the realm of possibility anymore. After all, the two people she loved most in the world constantly let strange men in white coats drug her and cut her open, so really, nothing surprised her anymore. The world was a much darker place than her meagre four years could comprehend. That night, with her head full of her parents' frightening conversation about Chandler, she drifted off into an anxious uneasy sleep.

Emma wandered into the kitchen looking for a snack to eat. Uncle Chan stood at the kitchen counter chopping up some pumpkin. Emma reached out to him, tugging at his pants.

"Play with me!" she demanded.

"Not now Em, I'm busy" Uncle Chan replied tersely. Dissatisfied, Emma continued tugging at his pants, whining louder and louder, petulantly stamping her foot on the ground.

"Play with me, play with me!" she cried shrilly.

"Emma, stop it, please," came the tense reply. Eager for attention, Emma began raining her little fists down upon Chandler's leg.

"Seriously, stop it, I'm busy!"

Emma kicked furiously at Chandler's shin, screeching, "Play with me, play with me!"

Chandler's voice boomed across the kitchen, "STOP IT!" He swung round and stabbed Emma in the torso. Emma sat up suddenly in bed, cold sweat lining her brow. Pulling the sheets up to her chin, she whimpered with terror. At her bedside, Ross and Rachel sat in two plastic chairs, tossing and turning in their sleep.


	13. Twilight Zone

**TWILIGHT ZONE**

Every night Emma saw Chandler's furious face, heard his angry voice, and felt the cold sting of knife to flesh as he lashed out at her. She knew now, the answers to the policeman's questions. She had a lapse in her memory, between the moment she stood in the kitchen; and the moment she awoke at hospital. The lapse was filling. Her memory had begun to patch itself with images from her nightmares and snippets from misinterpreted adult conversations.

Nothing made sense anymore. Everyone she loved was disappointing her. First there were her parents who inflicted horribly painful surgeries on her. Then there was Uncle Chan, who attacked her in a moment of rage. Everything was topsy turvy, the people she loved most were now the people she feared most. Why were her loved ones hurting her?

When her dad held her down while a doctor pushed a tube up her nose, was that reality or a nightmare? When her mom refused to give her food or water for hours on end because surgery was on the next day, was that a nightmare or reality? When Uncle Chandler stabbed her in the stomach, was that reality or a nightmare? It seemed there were no limits to the cruelty of the adults around her. She didn't understand adults.

Every time she begged her parents to let her off the hook, they would look so sorry and heartbroken. They would cry, kiss her, hug her, shower her with presents and apologise a million times over, but somehow, they would never give her the only thing she wanted: to avoid surgery.

Hopped up on morphine, when she was awake she felt asleep. Hopped up on adrenaline, when she was asleep she felt awake. She spent half her life now, caught in the twilight zone between consciousness and unconsciousness, lost in the cloud of opiates the doctors pumped into her little body. All this terror, sadness, confusion, drugs, surgeries, doctors, nurses and police was too much for her fragile young mind to process.

Her four year old mind was kicking into overdrive. The notion of Uncle Chandler stabbing her permeated her surroundings. She heard her parents discuss it when they thought she was asleep; she heard the nurses, doctors and police debate about it when they thought she wasn't listening; she witnessed it every night in her dreams. In her haze of morphine, terror and confusion, she was now convinced that Chandler had stabbed her. It was as clear to her, as the fact that her parents persistently inflicted surgeries on her. Emma tugged gently on Leonard Greene's shirt.

"Grandpa, I can tell the policemens now, how I was hurted," Emma whispered anxiously.

Leonard put his newspaper down, his heart beating like a battle drum. This was the moment everyone had been waiting for, the time when Emma would be ready to explain what had happened to her on that terrible day. Leonard didn't know Chandler that well, but he felt sorry for the poor bastard, and was relieved to know that the police could now let the guy off the hook. So long as Emma was withholding her statement, Chandler remained a suspect. Holding Emma at arms' length, Leonard watched Emma with serious eyes.

"How, Emma? How did you get hurt?" he said breathlessly.

"Uncle Chandler cutted me with a knife."


	14. Believe It

**BELIEVE IT**

Ross and Rachel kneeled by Emma's side, faces blanched, hands shaking. They could not believe what they were hearing. They repeated the same question over and over again, silently begging Emma to say something different.

"Honey, are you _absolutely_ sure?" Rachel asked weakly.

Emma nodded vigorously, "Yes, Uncle Chan got mad so he was cutted me," she said resolutely.

Ross tilted Emma's face towards him, making sure her eyes were level with his. "Sweetheart, tell me very, very carefully exactly what happened."

Emma pushed Ross's hand away in agitation. "I told you already, so many times, I was wanted to play with Uncle Chandler, I was kicked and punched him everywhere, he got mad, and he cutted me with the knife!" Emma exclaimed in angry frustration. It was like her parents were deaf. No matter how many times she repeated herself, they kept repeating the same questions. Rachel stumbled away from Emma's bed and collapsed onto a plastic chair.

Dr Greene sat down next to her, speaking in a gentle voice, "Rachel, honey, you've been asking her the same question over and over for a whole hour now, but her answer's still the same. Is there any chance you're in denial? I know he's your friend."

Rachel shook her head, tears dripping off her nose, "I just, I don't understand. Chandler wouldn't do that, I know him, he's not like that! It doesn't make any sense!"

"Would Emma lie about something like this?"

"No, of course not, but…"

"Well, then, either your friend hurt her, or she's lying. You have to decide which one it is," Dr Greene reasoned sadly.

Ross's voice cracked with emotion, "Is it possible she's confused? She's very young…"

Carol whispered, "I don't know Chandler all that well, and I'm as shocked as everyone else, but she doesn't look confused at all, she looks very certain." Ross glanced at Emma, who looked resolute and frustrated.

"Are you certain, honey?" he asked.

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! Why everyone not believe me? He stabbed me, he stabbed me!" she screamed with outrage. Her face reddened and crumpled, and she dissolved into tears. "Why nobody believe me? Why nobody do?" she whimpered.

Seeing her daughter weeping with such intense grief, Rachel whispered sadly, "If Em insists that it's true, then it has to be."

"We should probably call Constable Vaughn so Emma can give her testimony," Susan suggested anxiously.

Ross swayed unsteadily on his feet, the bright hospital lights danced before his eyes. That arrogant bastard, Constable Vaughn, had been right about Chandler all along. Ross felt dangerously close to passing out. It felt impossible to believe his best friend would do something like this, but his daughter had spoken. No matter how many times, and in how many different ways Ross and Rachel asked Emma how she got hurt, her answer remained the same. She sounded certain, confident, adamant. Ross and Rachel could see that Emma felt hurt and betrayed that they struggled to believe her. As Emma's parents, Ross and Rachel could not in good conscience disbelieve Emma, even though it completely shattered their hearts to do so.

"I'll call Constable Vaughn," Ross whispered, heartbroken.


	15. First Degree

**FIRST DEGREE **

Monica awoke with a start, to a loud incessant banging on the front door. Chandler remained sound asleep. The banging continued. Feeling drunk with sleep, Monica dragged herself out of bed, pulled on her nightrobe and stumbled down the stairs. When she opened the front door, her heart dropped. Two police officers at her door at 2 o'clock in the morning, this surely was bad news. The anxiety she felt mirrored the day she found out about Emma's accident.

"Is someone hurt?" she asked breathlessly.

"No, no, nothing like that. Is your husband home?"

"Yes…" Monica replied cautiously.

"I'm very sorry, but we'll need to take him into custody. Would you ask him to come downstairs please?"

Bewildered, Monica whispered, "I don't understand, it's 2 am, this is all so sudden, why do you need to take him into custody?"

"You will be served with papers tomorrow morning, which will fully inform you on his arrest. Would you fetch your husband please?"

"No, he's sleeping, I'm not going to _fetch_ him until you serve me those papers!" Monica placed one arm over the entrance of her home, barring entry.

"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to step aside."

"No! This is my home, I have a right to-" Officer Keaton pulled out a piece of paper, holding it up in front of Monica's face.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but this is an arrest warrant issued by the district court judge. Now, I understand that you're confused and upset, but if you don't fetch your husband, we have the right enter your house to arrest him. We're asking you to fetch him because we don't want to invade the privacy of your home if we don't have to. As I've said, tomorrow morning you will be served with papers, so you'll know exactly what's going on. However, it is imperative that we take him into custody now."

Frightened and bewildered, Monica backed away from the police officers, and stumbled up the stairs. Monica shook Chandler's shoulder gently. "Honey, wake up…" she whispered. Chandler moaned in his sleep and turned over to his side. Monica shook Chandler more vigorously. He woke up with a start, sitting bolt upright when he saw Monica's anxiety-stricken face.

"What is it?" he demanded anxiously.

"Chan, the police are here to arrest you," Monica replied, her face pale with worry.

"W-w-what?" Chandler stuttered.

"Honey, I don't have time to explain, they're waiting outside the door right now; they asked me to fetch you. I promise I'll visit you first thing tomorrow morning, I'm getting us a lawyer, you're gonna be ok, I'm gonna take care of you, you're not alone in this. But you need to get up now, you have to go, they're standing outside waiting." The nervous words tumbled out of Monica's mouth at the speed of light. Monica took Chandler's hand and gently hauled him out of bed. She passed him a warm jacket and a pair of shoes, and led him downstairs by the hand. Chandler stumbled towards the police officers, utterly bewildered and confused.

Officer Keaton stepped forward, "Chandler Muriel Bing, you are under arrest for attempted murder in the first degree. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you at the State's expense." Officer Keaton turned Chandler around, and cuffed his hands behind his back.

Monica threw her arms around Chandler, speaking hastily, "I'll see you tomorrow morning, we're gonna figure this out. Remember, I love you."

"I love you too Mon," Chandler whispered.

Keaton led Chandler out of the house, and it felt like déjà vu. This was Chandler's second arrest, but the first was merely 24 hours of evidence-collecting. Tonight, was a whole other ballgame; actual charges had been laid against him. As Keaton guided Chandler into the police car, Chandler thanked his lucky stars he was married to a fighter. Monica was going to have to kick-ass to save him from this one.


	16. New Arrival

**NEW ARRIVAL **

Chandler stepped out of the police car. The police officers escorted him into the giant bleak cement compound. The concrete walls towered over him, and the tops were laced with spindles of barbed wire. As he was escorted into the correctional facility courtyard, hoards of men dressed bright orange jumpsuits clamoured around him, fighting to get a closer look. They jeered, wolf-whistled and called out to him.

"Haha! Looky looky, what have we here? A new arrival! What did _you_ do?"

Chandler shrank against the unwanted attention. The police officers shooed away prisoners that stepped too close. They brought him into the security check-in centre, where he was told to fill out a pile of paperwork. Chandler filled it in, his palms sweaty. This was a completely different ballgame from his last arrest. During his last arrest, he had been chucked unceremoniously, into a small local county cell. It was the kind of place for petty criminals, like drunks and shoplifters. This place, was entirely different. It was all formalities and red tape.

It made him feel like a legit criminal. After Chandler filled out numerous forms, prison guards ran an electronic beeper over his body to check for metal weapons. Once he was cleared, a guard handed Chandler a neat pile of folded orange clothes. Two sets of orange jumpsuits, an orange jacket, and a pair of white canvas shoes. Chandler had a feeling he was going to hate the colour orange. Chandler changed into his prison outfit.

"We'll escort you to your cell now, which you'll share with two other cellmates. We're pretty relaxed here. So long as you follow the rules, stick with the timetable, you'll have access to books, exercise, television and decent meals three times a day. We even provide all prisoners with free education, courtesy of taxpayers' money. You can learn anything, from art, to maths. The doors to your cell remain unlocked between 8 am to 8 pm. During those times, you're free to roam around the correctional facility. Like I said, we're pretty relaxed here. Lights go out at 8.30 pm."

The guard led Chandler into the heart of the correctional facility. Rows upon rows of prisoners lay languidly on bunk beds, reading, napping or chatting. The guard stopped in front of a cell. It was starkly white, with two metal bunk beds, a tiny sink and toilet.

"Well, here we are; your cell. Eric, Lucas, say hello to your new cellmate, Chandler." Eric was a young, large beefy red-faced guy with a shock of blonde hair.

"Chan-Lar? Sounds like a f-ggot's name," he smirked. Chandler cringed, and silently resented his father for giving him such an embarrassing name.

"Be nice," the guard warned. Lucas was a thin pale, bespectacled man in his early forties. He appraised Chandler coolly.

The guard gently pushed Chandler into the cell, "make friends, Chandler."

Sitting down on a bunk bed, Chandler glanced around the claustrophobic cluttered cell, his heart drumming with anxiety. Staring at his hands, he avoided eye contact with Eric and Lucas; desperately counting the minutes till Monica would arrive to visit him. Something told him fitting in this cold cement facility with these hardened criminals was going to be a difficult task; it was just a cold nagging foreboding sitting in the pit of his stomach. Eric leered at Chandler, revealing a set of poorly cared for teeth.

"You shy, Chan-lar?"


	17. Damning Evidence

**DAMNING EVIDENCE**

Prosecutor Gupta held a tape up for the jury to see. "This is a recorded testimony from the victim, Emma Geller herself. She was unable to come to court in person because she is too ill to be transported from the hospital. I'll say no more, because this footage speaks for itself."

Gupta slipped a tape into the video player. The screen flickered to life. A fragile blonde little girl in a white polyester gown appeared on-screen. She sat in a hospital bed, attached to various tubes and IV bags. Her skin and the whites of her eyes were tinged yellow from the beginnings of liver failure. What little liver Dr Montgomery had salvaged after the accident, was beginning to fail Emma. Constable Vaughn's voice is heard in the background.

"Emma, how did you get that injury on your tummy?"

"I was cutted by a knife."

"How did you get cut by a knife?"

"Uncle Chandler cutted me."

"Do you know why he cut you?"

"Because I was wanted to play with him, but he didn't want to, he said no."

"What did you do when he refused to play with you?"

"I kicked and punched many times all over on him."

"What happened when you kicked and punched him many times?"

"He got mad, he was shouted real angry, says 'stop it, stop it!', and then he stabbed me with the knife."

"Where did he get the knife from, Emma?"

"The kitchen."

"What was he doing with the kitchen knife before he stabbed you?"

"He was cutted some pumpkins for Jack and Erica to eat. Then I disturbs him when he's cutting pumpkins, so he was mad."

Gasps could be heard all around the courtroom. Swayed by the footage, and instantly convinced of Chandler's guilt, the jury glared at Chandler, their lips curling downwards in disgust. They had heard it from the victim herself. This was it, it was a done deal. To the jury, all other evidence, arguments and expert witnesses, felt like mere due process this viscous bastard was unworthy of. The prosecution switched off the tape.

Chandler wore a coarse bright orange polyester jumpsuit, courtesy of NY Prison facility. Now that he had been formally charged with a criminal offence, the State was entitled to imprison him till the trial ended, unless he could post bail to the tune of US$2 million. This was standard legal procedure designed to prevent criminals absconding out of American legal jurisdiction. If found guilty of attempted murder, the time spent in prison during the trial would count as time already served.

Chandler closed his eyes, pressing his fingers to his temple. The blood drained from his face, he couldn't control his shivering. He knew this piece of evidence was bound to crop up. His defence lawyer had warned him as much. Prosecutor Gupta had been legally obliged to reveal the existence and nature of the tape during the discovery procedure prior trial. In fact, Chandler had read the full transcript of the video. Still, it knocked the wind out of him, seeing it and hearing it in person.

_Why was little Emma doing this to him? What was she doing? Was she lying? Confused? Playing pretend? Punishing him for his neglect? Could a little girl possibly be so vindictive? _

He tugged at his jumpsuit collar, desperate to loosen it. It felt like a noose choking off his air supply. In effect, the video tape was Chandler's noose. To see a video of a fragile, sickly little girl identify the man who tried to kill her, well, there's no evidence more damning than that, especially to an impressionable, emotionally-charged jury.

The four walls of the mahogany hall closed in on Chandler, caging him in. He felt a desperate urge to bust through the double doors and go running for the hills. Only he was handcuffed to the table, flanked by prison guards, and knew full well there was no escape from this blatant lie. The child had sealed his fate. He was a doomed man. In the docks, his parents wept for him, and his wife stared straight ahead, her bottom lip quivering, as she tried desperately to hold onto her emotions.


	18. ChanLar

**CHAN-LAR**

Chandler collected his dinner, and wandered towards the crowd, where rows of prisoners sat at long metal tables. His palms sweated, as he wondered where he ought to sit. He didn't have any friends in this cold place. It felt like high school all over again, only a million shades darker and more sinister. He wasn't clicking with his cellmates. Somehow he seemed to always rub them the wrong way with his sarcastic jokes, which they were too obtuse to get. As Chandler walked slowly past the rows of prisoners, they stared at him indifferently. Feeling foolish, he sat down at a random table, setting his tray down. A short stocky man appraised him coolly.

"So, you're the new one, huh?" Chandler nodded.

"Heard youse got a stupid name. Chan-Lar. Sounds pussy."

Feeling nervous, Chandler ran at the mouth. "Well, if you think that's effeminate, you should hear my middle name." Chandler cringed, instantly regretting bringing that up.

"What's it? What yo' middle name?" the stocky man demanded.

"Muriel…" Chandler admitted, embarrassed.

"HAH! Muriel! That's my fat butch aunt's name! Man, your folks never gave you a chance, huh? No wonder yer in prison!" The stocky man slapped Chandler on the back mirthfully.

"I'm Tony, this here's me mates Alan and Denny!" Tony said cheerfully. Chandler felt relieved to find some acquaintances. His cellmates had been consistently cold towards him.

"Who youse rooming with?"

"Lucas and Eric."

Alan whistled. "Damn, bad luck. Those two are pretty psychotic. The big one's in for attempted murder. The little one, kidnapping. We don't mix with them."

"So, what youse in for?"

"I don't really want to talk about it."

"Suit yourself. Me, I'm in for armed robbery. The bastard was rich enough as it is, he coulda spared me some money. Alan, he's here for assault. Hoe cheated on him, so she got beat. And Denny, he's a scientist. He ran a meth lab in his garage."

Tony punched Denny in the arm, "He's one smart son of a bitch!"

Chandler ate his dinner: a scoop of boiled cabbage, a piece of steamed chicken, a scoop of rice, and an apple. After eating, Chandler, Alan, Denny and Tony went to watch tv in the common room. It was a tiny old-school box, with a tall antenna. The news came on.

_"Last week, began the trial for the man accused of attempting to murder his friend's child." _Video footage appeared of Chandler walking into the courtroom, flanked by prison guards, and surrounded by reporters.

Denny's eyes grew wide, "Holy shit, isn't that you, Chan-Lar?" Chandler closed his eyes in distress.

"_The four year old girl's witness testimony was played before the Supreme Court, where she alleged that Chandler Bing had intentionally attacked her with a knife in a moment of stress. This damning evidence against Mr Bing serves as a heavy blow to his legal defence team, all of whom refused to comment on the incident."  
_

Tony stared at Chandler in shock, speaking quietly, "You're in here for trying to off a kid?"

"No, it was an accident, she was stabbed accidentally," Chandler protested.

Tony shook his head, unconvinced, "You mean to tell me you stabbed her _accidentally_? C'mon, man."

"No, I didn't stab her at all, she fell into a knife!" Chandler insisted.

Snorting in disgust, Denny retorted, "She _fell _into a knife? Fell? What do you think we are? Stupid? Who the fuck falls into a knife?"

Alan glared at Chandler coldly, "Look, I'm in here cuz I beat my ex, but the bitch cheated on me, so she had it coming. But you! What could a little kid have done, for you to knife her?"

"No, look, I didn't stab her! I'm telling you, she-"

"We don't mix with child killers," Denny interrupted. Chandler's three new acquaintances stood up, and walked away without another word. Chandler felt humiliated tears prickling at the back of his eyes. Glancing around him, he saw the entire common room watching him coldly, their lips curled in disdain. He opened his mouth to protest, but no words escaped his lips.


	19. False Confidence

**FALSE CONFIDENCE**

Monica banged on Ross and Rachel's door. "Ross, I know you're in there, I can see the lights on underneath your door! I know it's your day off from work today. Open up!" Ross sat mutely on the couch, ignoring her.

"You haven't answered any of my calls, you ignore all my emails. I've been really worried about you. For God sakes, I'm your sister, open up!" Ross opened the door reluctantly. Monica threw her arms around her big brother. Ross returned the hug half-heartedly.

"Ross, what's the matter with you? Why are you so distant? Why have you been avoiding me?" Monica demanded.

"Mon, I love you, I do; but I just can't deal with you right now," Ross muttered.

"_Deal_ with me? What's that supposed to mean?"

"You think Emma is lying, don't you?"

"No, of course not, when have I ever said that?" Monica asked, bewildered.

"But you think Chandler is innocent."

"Yes, I do."

"So you think my daughter is a liar."

"No, why are you putting words into my mouth?"

"Well either Chandler stabbed her, or Emma's lying. Which is it, Mon?"

"Look, neither, okay? She's just a kid, she's probably confused."

"Confused? She's not confused! Rachel and I have asked her a million times, in a million different ways how she got hurt; and she has consistently told us without pause or hesitation that Chandler stabbed her, so don't give me this, 'she's just a kid, she's probably confused' condescending bullshit!"

"Ross, she's four years old, children that age can get confused."

"Don't tell me a four year old child can't tell whether a person stabbed her with a knife or not! It's not algebra, it's a physical attack, a knife wound!"

"The hell are you yelling for? Why can't you acknowledge the possibility that Chandler might be innocent?"

"Because I'm Emma's father! Because it is my duty to stand by her side, to protect her, to give her the benefit of the doubt, no matter what the cost is, and to believe her when she tells me someone has hurt her; even if it means believing my friend is a murderer!"

"Ross, your duties as a father have nothing to do with Chandler's guilt or innocence, it's-"

"Look Mon, it killed me when I saw how hurt and betrayed Emma looked when Rach and I didn't believe her immediately, so we're not going to make that mistake again."

"So now what? You're going to let your parental duties send an innocent man to prison?"

"You don't know he's innocent. It's his word against hers. And if we're drawing lines in the sand, if it's a choice between believing my child and my _best friend_, I sure as hell am choosing my child!"

"That's right Ross, he's your _best friend_! You're hanging your best friend out to dry, don't you forget that!"

"Get out."

"What? Ross…"

"I can't do this, Mon. Just get out of my house. Please."

Hurt and angry, Monica stormed out of the house without another word, slamming the door behind her. Ross collapsed onto the couch, burying his face in his hands, feeling terribly guilty for hurting his sister, and completely overwhelmed by Emma's allegations against Chandler.

* * *

Dressed in his orange jumpsuit, Chandler pressed his hand against the glass barrier, meeting Monica's hand on the other side. "You don't believe I hurt her, do you, Mon?" Chandler asked softly, scared to death of what Monica might say.

"No. I never have, and I never will. Not for a moment." Monica replied emphatically.

Chandler closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the barrier, relief flooding into his heart. Ever since the prosecutor played the Emma's testimony in court, he had been terrified the love of his life would believe he was a monster.

"There's an explanation for this, Emma must be confused. I mean, she's been through so much trauma and she's only 4 years old. We'll find a way to prove your innocence, you've just got to keep your spirits up and believe, as I do, that you're going to be okay. You trust me, right, Chandler?"

"Yes I do, Mon, completely."

"Then trust me when I say, I'm getting you out of here. Our kids aren't gonna grow up without their father."

Monica spoke with all the hope and conviction she did not feel. She believed wholeheartedly in Chandler's innocence, but ever since she saw the video, she felt a sudden loss of control. She was beginning to seriously worry Chandler might not come out of this okay. All along she had been relying on Emma to exonerate Chandler, but now the child was incriminating him. Emma's testimony had been Monica's long-awaited trump card, but now that it was gone, she felt lost, helpless and frightened.

Monica's brother and parents were disdainful about her unwavering loyalty to Chandler. It made her feel terribly lonely and isolated. Just last week, her mother had exclaimed at her, "I can't believe you're choosing Chandler over your own niece. She's your flesh and blood!" In front of Chandler, Monica worked overtime to present a façade of confidence. She couldn't afford to let Chandler lose hope. But behind closed doors, when Jack and Erica were fast asleep, Monica sat alone in the bathroom and wept.


	20. Balancing Act

**BALANCING ACT**

"Ross, Rachel, I commend you both for offering to donate a piece of your liver to Emma, but-"

"Have you decided if she's taking a piece of my liver or Rachel's? Which would be better for her? Which is more compatible?" Ross interrupted, wringing his hands nervously.

"I'm sorry Ross, but the truth is, we have to postpone the liver transplant, because I'm not confident Emma will survive the operation if we have it now. Her body is still reeling from the effects of bowel reconstruction surgery," Montgomery apologised.

"But Em needs this surgery, she can't survive with what little liver she has left, you said so yourself!" Rachel croaked, tears brimming her eyes.

Montgomery squeezed Rachel's hand sympathetically, "I know, Rachel, but I cannot provide the transplant unless I am confident that her body will be strong enough to physically accept the new liver. Given that-"

"Hang on, you people have anti-rejection medication for that," Ross interrupted, anxious and agitated.

"The anti-rejection medication is a necessity for Emma's body to accept the liver, but it is not a guarantee. Her body will reject the liver unless her health improves. The only option is keep her on the IV sustenance regime, and undergo further physiotherapy sessions."

"No, no, but Dr, that's just it, she can't recover without the transplant! You can't tell me the only way she'll survive the transplant is if her health improves, when it refuses to improve _without _the transplant! That's a catch 22!" Rachel's voice cracked with emotion.

Montgomery nodded sympathetically, "I know Rachel, I'm sorry, it _is_ a catch 22, but I can assure you, now is not the time for Emma to undergo the surgery."

"But she's circling the drain, you've seen her, she hardly has any energy and strength to get out of bed, let alone undergo more physio sessions… her skin, and the whites of her eyes have turned yellow. I know it's the ultimate sign of liver failure… Just please, you have to let get her into surgery," Ross pleaded desperately.

Montgomery shook her head slowly, "I'm sorry Ross, I can't. I've upped her IV sustenance regime, since she's struggling to keep food down, and has very little appetite. The physiotherapist has drawn up an increased regime."

"So what are we supposed to do? Just sit here and wait while she suffers?" Ross whispered, heartbroken.

"I'm afraid so. Organ transplants are significantly more taxing on the body than the other operations Emma has undergone. A transplant involves introducing a foreign object into a body. Given that Emma is already struggling to cope with wounds of prior operations, if I introduce a new liver, her immune system will kick into overdrive and attack the liver, and attack her. _That new liver would destroy her from the inside out_, her chance for survival would be slim," Montgomery explained.

Rachel buried her face in Ross's shirt, her body shuddering with sobs. Ross closed his eyes in devastated agony. "I believe that with hard work, Emma can get to the level of health necessary to survive the transplant in three weeks."

"Three weeks," Ross gasped. "Can she survive three weeks on her liver?" Ross whispered anxiously.

"I don't know Ross, but I do know that the likelihood of surviving three more weeks is significantly higher than surviving a transplant surgery now. Right now Emma's treatment is a _balancing act_. We cannot operate too soon or she will not survive; but if we don't operate soon enough she will not survive." was the doctor's honest reply.

"A balancing act," Ross nodded soberly.


	21. The Final Cut

**THE FINAL CUT**

Ross and Rachel sat opposite Dr Montgomery, palms of their hands sweaty, hearts fluttering rapidly, throats dry, as they waited for the verdict. Three weeks had passed. Was it enough? Was Emma fit enough for a liver transplant? Or was Montgomery about to issue a death sentence?

"Ross, Rachel, I am thrilled to tell you that Emma has now reached a stage in her recovery, where I feel confident she will survive a liver transplant." Montgomery beamed at the couple.

Rachel threw her arms around Ross, weeping into his shirt. Ross closed his eyes, mouthing the words "thankyou", over and over again. The transplant was the big ticket Ross and Rachel had desperately waited for. A transplant meant Emma would finally, truly and wholly be on the road to recovery. Perhaps they would finally leave this cold sterile place and begin their lives again. With all this tragedy, something was bound to give.

* * *

"Is it last surgery ever?" Emma demanded.

"Honey, I can't promise that it'll be the last-"

"Then No! I don't want! Go away! I hate surgeries, they makes me hurt and painful!"

"Sweetie, please, you need it to get better," Ross pleaded with his daughter.

"You says that always. Always, always, always! But I stuck still in hospital! You lying, you liar!" Emma screamed, thrashing around in her bed, kicking her little feet at Ross, face red with furious indignation. Terrified she would disconnect her tubes and IV bags, Ross grasped her firmly, holding her still.

"Emma, stay still," Ross warned.

"Liar liar pants on fire!" Emma screamed angrily, flailing her arms around in the air, knocking an IV bag on wheels, almost toppling it over. One disconnected IV bag, and she could compromise her life.

"EMMA, STOP IT!"

Ross's voice boomed loudly across the hospital corridor. Shocked and frightened, Emma fell instantly silent. Her eyes widened, her little lips quivered. Tears spilled silently onto her hospital gown. A bubble of snot in her nose expanded and popped. She didn't know her parents anymore. They were always either sad or angry. They were sad angry strangers, ghosts of the people they once were.

She thought they would be happy after she told them the truth about Chandler, but it only seemed to make them sadder. She didn't understand them. First they begged her to tell them how she got hurt, and now that she had told them, they were constantly blue. Ross leaned in to hug Emma, but she recoiled away from him, scared and uncertain. Ross's heart ached, seeing Emma recoil from him. Keeping his distance, he spoke gently, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Emma, honey, I'm so sorry I yelled. I was scared you were going to disconnect your tubes and IV bags. You could seriously hurt yourself, honey. Please, don't be scared, it's just me, your silly goofy old dad."

With her shoulders hunched, and tears dripping off her nose, Emma mumbled quietly, "You liar. You says always I'm get better, but I'm not. Surgeries hurt me, I hate hospital, I wanna go home." Sitting on Emma's bed, Ross drew Emma into his arms and buried his nose in her hair, breathing in her scent. Lying in Ross's arms, Emma sucked her thumb, something she hadn't done since she was two.

"I know you do honey. You're right, I'm a liar. I'm sorry I lied, but I promise this time you will get better. You're getting a new liver. Mommy is giving a piece of liver to you, so you'll have a piece of mommy to carry with you forever, inside here," Ross tapped Emma's abdomen lightly.

Emma's eyes lit up with delight, "I'll have a piece of mommy in my tummy forever?"

"Yes, sweetheart, and I promise that this time you'll get better. That's a promise, Em."

"Pinky promise?" Emma extended her pinky finger, holding it in front of Ross's face.

Ross linked his pinky with Emma's, "Pinky promise."

"Sing, daddy?" Ross smiled sadly, kissing the top of Emma's head.

"I like big butts and I cannot lie, all you other brothers can't deny, when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist, and a round thing in your face, you get strung!" Emma smiled, placated by her favourite song.

* * *

Rachel and Emma lay side by side in two gurneys. Rachel reached over, taking Emma's hand. "Can you be a brave girl for mommy and daddy, Em?" Emma nodded; her body tense with anxiety. "I know you're scared sweety, but this time it's going to be different. Mommy will be right next door having surgery too, just like you."

Pale with anxiety, Emma whispered, "Ok, love you mommy and daddy." Rachel squeezed Emma's hand, "I love you too Em, so much."

Ross leaned in and kissed Emma on the forehead and Rachel on the lips, "I love both my girls very much."

Dr Montgomery and her surgical team nodded respectfully at Ross and pushed the double doors open, wheeling Rachel and Emma into the Operating Theatre. Ross stood by the door until they were completely out of sight. Emotionally spent, he slid into a plastic hospital chair, resting his head against the wall. God willing, a new liver would herald a fresh beginning, and a so desperately needed improvement in Emma's health.


	22. Here and Now

**HERE AND NOW**

Rachel lay open on the operating table. "Look at that, Branson. A beautiful healthy liver, just perfect for her daughter. When the child recovers, this liver's gonna serve her fine."

The surgical intern nodded. Dr Mendez sliced a piece of Rachel's liver, and gently placed it into the red plastic box of shaved ice. Intern Branson closed the lid and carefully carried it next door, where Dr Montgomery and her surgical team stood waiting. Dr Montgomery nodded in approval at the slick plump liver piece before her. She removed Emma's shredded liver, and eased the new liver into place.

"Emma Geller, you've come a long way," she muttered under her breath.

Emma and Rachel lay side by side in the recovery room, eyes closed, blankets pulled up to their chins. Ross watched the steady rise and fall of their chests, his heart expanding with the infinite love. Emma looked absolutely beautiful. Her usually pallid skin had lost its jaundiced colouring, and was now returning to its previous warm peachy colour. Her cheeks were flushed rosy. It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that the child was thriving on her new liver. Rachel's eyes slowly fluttered open, a long moan of discomfort escaped her lips. She glanced around the room, confused and disoriented. Ross placed a hand gently on her cheek, directing her gaze towards his. He took her hands in his.

"Rach, honey, the surgery went really really well, Dr Montgomery said both you and Emma are gonna be okay. Emma's taking to her new liver really well; she looks amazing, you should see her, her cheeks are so rosy!" Ross said breathlessly.

Rachel tried to sit up to peek at Emma, but winced in pain as she did. Lying back down onto bed, and smiling weakly, a single tear of relief slid down Rachel's cheek and onto her pillow. Rachel reached gingerly over her bed, across to Emma's, and stroked her daughter's hair. Soon Emma would come to, and they would be a family again. Finally, Ross and Rachel were seeing a light at the end of this very long dark tunnel; Emma was finally making her way out of the woods. Ross's chest tightened as waves of overwhelming emotions washed over him.

Ross felt overwhelmed by the gut wrenching love he felt for Rachel. He was so grateful, so thankful for this new lease on life she had given their beautiful daughter. The love he felt for Rachel had, over the years buried itself so deeply into his soul, it had become part of his very identity. Sitting right here, at the hospital, next to his beautiful girls, he was consumed with a single thought. It had been plaguing him for years, but he never had the courage to try again, there never seemed to be a right time to start over.

He was always waiting for the perfect moment. Vegas had left as nasty taste in his mouth. And then it hit him. It took almost losing his daughter forever to make him realise how fragile and transient life is. There is no such thing as the perfect moment. There is only here and now, and if you feel something, by God you should say it. Ross entwined Rachel's fingers in his, and planted gentle kisses on each of her fingers. Rachel closed her eyes, enjoying the sensuality.

Ross and Rachel were trapped in a cold sterile hospital. It was by no means a lily-covered, starry-skied Planetarium, but it was more than enough. With dark eyes blazing, Ross leaned into Rachel, and whispered the words she had been waiting an eternity to hear.

"Rachel Greene, will you marry me?"


	23. Yes

**YES.**

"Yes," Rachel whispered, as she let her tears fall freely down her face. She had waited an eternity to hear him say those words. It had gotten to a point where she thought he would never ask.

"Yes, Ross Geller, I will marry you," Rachel sobbed.

It felt extremely beautiful to say those words out loud. Ross grasped Rachel's face in his hands, pressing his lips against hers. Theirs was a kiss so hot, so deep, so passionate, neither wanted to ever come up for air. It was their first kiss as fiancés. Ross rested his forehead against Rachel's forehead, tears of joy coursing down his cheeks. When the pair broke away, both looked utterly blown away by how hot that kiss was. It had been so long since they had kissed in such a passionate way. They had been so focused on Emma's tragedy, physical affections hadn't crossed their minds in so long.

Resting his hand on Rachel's cheek, Ross said, "I'm sorry I didn't get you a ring, but we'll get you one the minute we get out of here."

Rachel closed her eyes, absorbing those beautiful words, _get out of here. _Oh, how long they had all been dreaming of leaving this horrible place. She wanted so badly for her daughter to be out in the open again, to see the trees, the grass, the blue sky, instead of being trapped within four white-washed walls, a prisoner to a hospital bed.

Rachel stretched her arm over her bed, reaching into Emma's. She stroked Emma's soft blonde hair. She felt Emma stir underneath her hand.

Rachel grinned from ear to ear, "Ross, she's waking up!" Ross leaned into Emma's bed and took her tiny hands in his.

"C'mon sweetie, you can do it," he whispered encouragingly.

Emma moved slightly, stretching her arms and legs. A drowsy groan escaped her lips. Her beautiful blue eyes slowly fluttered open. My God, how much she looked like Rachel. Warm peachy skin, healthy rosy cheeks, just gorgeous. Ross pressed Emma's little hand against his lips, planting kisses all over it.

"Thank you for waking up, sweetheart," he whispered gratefully, tears spilling down his cheeks. Rachel sobbed with joy and relief. The worst was over. Emma had a new liver; she was on her way towards recovery.

"Mummy, why are you crying?" a little voice asked.

"Oh because I'm so happy you're okay, sweetheart! Soon we'll be able to go home, Em! Isn't that wonderful? We can finally leave this hospital!" Upon hearing this, Emma felt an overwhelming rush of emotions. She was leaving his cold white place. She had waited so long.

"Oh goody!" Emma said, her eyes filling up with tears.

"Oh no, mummy's so sorry for making you cry too, sweety!"

"That's okay, mummy! I'm just happy!" the little girl sobbed.

Ross's heart swelled with joy, seeing his two angels crying with happiness. Ross stretched his arms across both hospital beds, cuddling his two girls. For the first time in months, the family of three wept with joy, not with sadness. Dr Montgomery walked through the door to check up on Rachel and Emma, but seeing the family caught in such a private moment, she smiled sympathetically, and walked away to give them a moment to themselves. Ross dabbed Emma's face with a tissue. He put the tissue over her nose and told her to blow. She obliged.

"Guess what Emma?" Worried that her dad was going to tell her this wasn't her last surgery, she looked up at him anxiously.

"Mummy and I are getting married!" Rachel nodded at Emma, beaming. Emma's jaw dropped and she gasped with excited surprise.

"Really?" she asked breathlessly.

"Really!" Emma clapped her hands excitedly, giggling.

"And you are going to be a bridesmaid, Em, a beautiful angelic bridesmaid." Rachel smiled.

"Will I look like a princess, mommy? Like princess Jasmine?"

"Yes, exactly like princess Jasmine." Emma leaned against her pillow and put her hands to her heart, sighing dreamily. "Can I have a big princess dress, mommy?"

"Yes, you can have any dress you want sweetie, you deserve it, you've been such a brave girl!" Ross beamed.

Dr Montgomery walked into the room, "Emma, Mr Geller, Ms Greene!" she greeted warmly.

"It's Mrs Geller, now," Rachel said shyly.

"Dr Momgommy! Mummy and daddy are marrying!" Emma exclaimed at the top of her lungs.

Dr Montgomery grinned widely, "Oh, that's wonderful!" Dr Montgomery took Rachel's hand in hers to look at the ring.

Ross blushed, "I haven't gotten her a ring yet, but that's next on the to-do list."

Dr Montgomery shook her head in admiration, squeezing Ross and Rachel's hands tightly, "you three have been through hell and high water; you deserve all the happiness in the world, congratulations."


	24. Major Tom

**MAJOR TOM**

"How's Emma? Has she had the transplant yet?" Chandler asked anxiously.

"She's doing awesome, she's put on a lot of weight, and her skin's got that healthy baby-glow. She's getting discharged next week, Chan!" Joey said, beaming.

Chandler buried his face in his hands, "Oh thank God, thank God she's okay; I don't know how I'd live with myself otherwise," he said breathlessly.

"And the other big news I have, is that… Ross and Rachel are getting married!" Joey exclaimed excitedly.

Chandler stared wide-eyed at Joey, "Married? The ultimate Hot and Cold couple getting married? That's just, wow, amazing, really amazing," Chandler said shaking his head in awe.

"I know! And I'm gonna be the priest!" Joey announced proudly.

"Of course you are. The internet ordainment, how could I forget?" Chandler said, sarcastically deadpan.

Smiling sadly, he added, "I always had a feeling they'd get married someday; I just never knew I'd be missing their wedding… or not be invited at all, for that matter… I really thought I'd be Ross's best man."

"Well, for what it's worth, nobody's gonna be Ross's best man, cos I'm the priest, and you're not around. He doesn't talk about you, but I can tell he misses you. If he didn't, he'd be getting some random dude to be his best man, but instead, he's going without," Joey said sympathetically.

"I guess…" Chandler said, shrugging sadly.

"But other than the best man thing, are you okay, Chan? They treating you alright, in there?" Joey asked anxiously.

"No, Joey, I'm doing terrible in here. I mean orange? Seriously? So _not _my colour!" Chandler joked evasively.

"Chandler…" Joey chided gently.

"Hey look, Joe, we agreed on this. If you're gonna come in here and visit me, we're not discussing feelings. These visits are meant to cheer me up, not bum me out."

"Mon once told me that when people don't want to talk about stuff, it's usually cos it's bugging them, especially when it comes to you…" Joey pressed.

"Joey," Chandler warned, "A deal is a deal. No touchy-feely during my prison visits."

"Chandler, why are you so freaked to open up? I'm your best friend," Joey asked sadly.

"You remember the time you guys got on my case for being unable to cry?" Chandler asked.

"Yeah, I remember yelling at you for being dead inside," Joey chuckled.

"And you told me a ridiculous hypothetical about a talking three-legged puppy!" Chandler laughed.

"Hey, _that _was a really sad story! C'mon, a three legged puppy!" Joey protested indignantly.

"The point is, eventually, I did manage to turn on the waterworks, but somehow, once I got started, I couldn't stop. I began crying over the stupidest of things," Chandler said. Joey nodded soberly.

"Well, I'm scared that if I start on how I feel, if I begin to tell you… the truth, I won't be able to stop. The tears will come, and it'll be like opening a gate I cannot close, and right now, being stuck in here away from my friends and family, I can't afford to do that, for the sake of my sanity," Chandler explained.

"Okay, I hear ya," Joey whispered, nodding sympathetically.

Joey looked at Chandler, who suddenly looked very glum. It made him regret bringing up how Chandler felt. Not wanting to end the visit on a glum note and an awkward silence, Joey tried to cheer Chandler up in the only way Chandler ever responded well to, through jokes, silliness and general goofing off. Joey thought about all the times, back in their youth, when they used to prance around the rent-controlled apartment, videoing each other sing ridiculous songs. Breaking the silent tension, Joey began singing.

"_Ground Control to Major Tom,"_ he sang in a regal voice, _"Ground Control to Major Tom!"_ All the visitors at the prison turned to Joey with a confused, annoyed frown on their faces.

"Joey, what the hell are you doing, you're embarrassing me!" Chandler whispered loudly.

Seeing the beginnings of a bemused smile of Chandler's previously glum face, Joey continued, _"Commencing Countdown, Engines on…_" Joey increased the volume of his voice, "_Check ignition and may God's love be with you!"_

_Oh My God, _Chandler mouthed to himself in exasperation, as all the visitors and prisoners stared at Joey's antics.

"C'mon man, you gonna leave me in a lurch like that?" Joey announced, unabashedly.

Shaking his head in exasperated amusement, Chandler said, "Oh alright, but if I get prison-bashed, _that _is on you!"

"Fine by me!" Joey sang, pointing at Chandler to cue him in for the lift-off.

Chandler put his fist up to his mouth like a microphone, and announced grandly, _"Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Six, Five, Four, Three, Two, One, Lift-Off."_

Ignoring the staring faces, Chandler and Joey launched(pun intended) into the song at the top of their lungs, _"This is Major Tom to Ground Control, I'm stepping through the door! And I'm floating in a most peculiar way; and the stars look very different today! For here I am sitting in my tin can, far above the world, planet Earth is blue, and there's nothing I can do…" _

For a moment, Chandler forgot about his legal woes. He forgot he was trapped in limbo, about to be convicted of attempted murder by a little girl he cared deeply for, ostracised by the other prisoners because they believed him to be a child-killer, and trapped in a cell with cellmates who treated him with disdain.

For a few beautiful minutes, Chandler was _far above the world_, away from prison and back in the old apartment of his youth, which he once shared with Joey.


	25. Susan's Gift

**SUSAN'S GIFT**

"Ross?" Monica's voice hitched with surprise.

"Yep it's me, Mon, I'm so sorry I've been avoiding you, you didn't deserve that, I shouldn't have punished you for sticking by your husband, I'm so sorry..."

Monica remained silent on the other end of the line. "Mon, I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I'm hoping you'll give it to me anyway," Ross added anxiously.

"Ok." Monica said thinly.

"Ok…?" Ross asked, slowly, unconvinced.

"Look, Ross, I'm just glad to hear from you. You had me worried." Monica said stiffly, intentionally keeping her distance to mask her hurt.

"Mon, I've missed you, so much. I shouldn't have punished you for sticking with Chandler, he's your husband. I'm really sorry. It's just so hard, y'know? I feel so torn all the time, as Emma's dad." Ross's voice cracked with emotions.

"All this has been tearing me up too," Monica said softly, letting her guard down.

"I think maybe if we avoid dealing with this issue, sweep it under the rug every time we see each other; pretend it's not the elephant in the room. It's not ideal, but I don't know how else to deal with this. I just know I don't want to cut you out of my life, you're my sister."

"I'm your sister," Monica confirmed.

"Mon, there's something I've been meaning to tell you for quite some time," Ross said vaguely

"What is it, Ross?" Monica asked anxiously.

"I um... I proposed to Rachel, at the hospital... after the liver transplant, it just felt like the right time," Ross said shyly.

Monica closed her eyes, a dreamy smile crossing her face. It was the first time since the accident she felt anything resembling happiness. Her brother was marrying the love of his life, the mother of his child, her best friend. After all these years, after all this time, at long last, finally.

"God, it took you long enough," Monica teased gently.

"I know, I should've done it a long time ago... almost losing Emma, it made me realise. She's just... always been the one," Ross said dreamily.

"You don't need to tell me that Ross, haven't we and everybody else always known?" Monica chided.

"Yeah, as Pheebs would say... Lobsters," Ross smiled, "Anyway, I'm throwing her a surprise wedding ceremony, and it would mean the world to me if you could come," he added.

"I'll be there," Monica whispered.

"And I uh... I suppose, knowing you, you'll want to organise the food?" Ross teased awkwardly.

"I thought you'd never ask," chuckled.

"Mon, I love you; you know that, right?" Ross asked guiltily.

"I know you do, Ross," Monica said softly.

* * *

Carol stepped into Emma's hospital room and saw Ross sitting on Emma's bed, looking pensive and subdued. "Ross, where's Emma?"

"She's at physiotherapy with Rach and Joey." Carol nodded, seating herself on Emma's bed, beside Ross.

"Carol, I'm tired of being angry. It's exhausting. _I'm_ exhausted." Ross sighed sadly.

"Then stop," Carol replied simply.

Ross nodded, "I think I have. I try not to think about Chandler, cos whenever I think of him, I get all angry, conflicted, confused… empty... I mean, truth be told, I miss him, Carol. I know I'm not supposed to, given what's... transpired, but he was my best friend, and I don't know how to let go. Y'know I've always believed I would marry Rachel some day, I've always known..."

"You and the whole world, Ross," Carol teased. Ross smiled sadly.

"And I always thought Chandler would be my best man," Ross said pensively, "Do you think maybe I should visit him in prison?"

Carol frowned at Ross, "What is it you want to achieve from that? Are you looking for an apology? An admission of guilt? Do you want to be friends again?"

"I don't know, I really don't know, you're right, no good can come of it," Ross whispered.

"I didn't say no good can come of it, I'm saying you need to ask yourself what it is you're looking for, if you decide to visit Chandler, or things will only end in anger and disappointment," Carol advised.

Ross signed forlornly. Carol asked, "And what about your sister? You still avoiding her? Still mad at her?"

"No, actually, I called her today, invited her to the wedding… I guess it's unfair of me to be mad at her for sticking by her husband."

Carol cupped Ross's face in her hands, and planted a gentle kiss on his forehead. Ross smiled at her bewildered, "What was that for?"

"For letting go of your anger; for calling your sister", Carol said seriously, "And besides, can't a lesbian kiss her ex-husband these days?" she added lightly. Ross snorted with laughter.

"Ross, I have something for you."

Taking Ross's hands in hers, Carol pressed a small black velvet box into Ross's hands. Ross opened the box... it was his grandmother's wedding ring. A silver band with a single teardrop-shaped diamond.

"I didn't give it to you when you married Emily, cuz, let's face it, everyone knew it was eventually gonna be you and Rach some day, it was always just a matter of time."

"Carol, I can't accept this, I gave it to you on our wedding day, it belongs to you," Ross whispered, trying to pass the box back to Carol. He felt deeply touched by her beautiful gesture.

Carol folded Ross's fingers over the velvet box, "It belongs to Rachel now."


	26. Prison Attack I

**PRISON ATTACK I**

Chandler grunted agitatedly in his sleep. A cold hard slap burned across his cheek, jolting him into consciousness. His eyes flew open in shock, but he couldn't see a thing. The prison was pitch black and dead silent. To his terror, Chandler felt someone's warm breath against his face. He blinked furiously, trying to adjust to the darkness. When he did, he saw his cellmate, Eric's face inches away from his. The man had a psychotic grin on his face.

Chandler tried to sit up, but couldn't because Eric was straddling him, putting his full body weight on Chandler's chest. Chandler tried to move his arms, but Eric had an iron grasp on Chandler's wrists, pinning his arms to his sides. Chandler opened his mouth to scream, but a third arm flew out of the darkness, seemingly from nowhere, cupping his mouth roughly. Chandler glanced around frantically, and saw his other cellmate, Lucas staring down at him menacingly.

Terrified and disoriented, Chandler thrashed around in bed, trying desperately to free himself from Eric's grasp. He shook his head violently, trying to shake off Lucas's hand, to scream for help. Lucas kept his hand firmly clamped down on Chandler's mouth, and with his free hand, he pressed a cold sharp object into the side of Chandler's neck, whispering fiercely.

"Don't fight us. One more sound out of you and I'll drive this into your neck. You'll be dead before the guards hear you scream." Chandler stopped thrashing around immediately, his body freezing still; tense with anxiety.

"Do you know what this is? It's a shard of glass from a broken coke bottle. I've been hiding it in between my mattress. It's my most prized possession, and I've been waiting a long time to have an excuse to use it," Lucas whispered menacingly.

Chandler felt Eric lean into him, breathing into his neck, "You're a f-ggot, aren't you, Chandler?" Chandler's heart raced at a million miles per second. Chandler shook his head vigorously.

"See, I beg to differ, Chandler. The other inmates tell me you're a f-g, and I agree. You have a certain… _quality _ to you, I'm sure you've heard that before." Chandler had, from his friends, only back then it was in jest. Right now, in the cold quiet of his cell, it didn't seem so funny anymore.

"You're beautiful, Chandler. Smooth skin, such soft hair. And those eyes, those beautiful blue eyes." Eric ran the back of his hand across Chandler's cheek. Recoiling from Eric's touch, Chandler began thrashing violently in bed again. He tried to scream, but his voice was completely muffled by Lucas's hand.

"MMmmmmphhh Mmmmmphhh!"

"Shhh… don't fight us. Don't fight us, Chandler," Lucas cooed. Chandler continued to thrash. A heavy smack landed across his cheek, sending his head in a spin. He fell instantly silent and still with terror.

Lucas continued, "There's nothing I find more disgusting than a child killer. Word gets around, you know? Everyone in this joint knows you tried to off a little girl. And as a result, nobody gives a shit about you. You're the most hated of all criminals, second only to peadophiles, so believe me when I say this. Nobody is going to care, or even believe you if you report this," Lucas whispered fiercely.

"You are what I call, an easy mark… and a very beautiful one at that. Nobody likes a child-killer, and everyone thinks you're a f-g, especially since word's out that your dad's that _Viva Las Gaygas_ trannie, which means no one will believe _I_ initiated this... everyone would brush it off as consensual. Now, I think that if I concentrate hard enough, I can pretend I'm with a woman. What do you think, Chandler? God knows I've been waited long enough." Eric whispered, his voice laced with venomous mirth.

Chandler shook his head vigorously, tears streaming down his face. Hearing Eric's barely veiled threats sent dizzying waves of panic hurtling through Chandler's mind. He felt faint with terror. His heart was beating so wildly, he thought he might die of a heart attack. He could hardly breathe with Lucas smothering his mouth, and his nose backing up with snot.

"Crying, like a little bitch, are we?" Lucas sneered.

Suddenly, without warning, the cellmates tackled Chandler, dragging him out of bed by the hair. Chandler winced in pain. With Lucas's hand still clamped down on Chandler's mouth, the men forced Chandler into a position where he was lying stomach down on the bed, with his knees pressed against the cold cement floor. With both hands, Lucas pushed Chandler's face into the mattress, almost smothering him. Eric removed Chandler's pants, then his own.

As Eric forced himself into Chandler, Chandler screamed hysterically as blindingly white hot pain surged through him. He felt as though he were physically being torn in half, as if a fire had been lit inside of him. Lucas continued pushing Chandler's face into the mattress, absorbing all of his screams. Eric mercilessly bore into Chandler over and over again. Chandler prayed with every fibre of his soul, that this would kill him.

For the first time in his life, he wholeheartedly, no holds barred, literally wanted to _die._ The physical pain was no comparison to the incapacitating debasement and humiliation he felt. He prayed for the sweet release of death, until his physical and emotional torment was so incredible, his mind shut down completely, and he passed out cold on the prison floor.


	27. Lobster Wedding I

**LOBSTER WEDDING I**

Rachel had just rushed in from work to see Ross and Emma. She was still dressed in her Ralph Lauren suit and stilettos. Dishevelled and stressed out, she walked hastily down the hospital corridor towards Emma's room. Her father stood in the middle of the corridor, blocking her way. Rachel stared at him, stunned. He was dressed in a black tuxedo and a bowtie. He held a beautiful silk wedding dress in his arms.

"Get dressed, you're getting married," Leonard said, pressing the white gown into Rachel's hands.

"Wait, what, married? What are you talking about, daddy? How? Where?" Rachel gasped in disbelief.

Leonard Greene held Rachel by the shoulders and directed her to the hospital bathroom. "Calm down, Rachel, Now, don't ask so many questions. Just get dressed, and all will be revealed."

Rachel shook her head in confusion, "W-what? But daddy, we're at the hospital, what are you talking about?"

"Rachel Karen Greene. For once in your life, would you _just _listen to me without question?" Leonard chided in exasperation.

Rachel stared wide-eyed at the beautiful gown in her hands, "Wow, daddy, this dress, it's beautiful," she said breathlessly, tears filling her eyes.

Leonard touched Rachel's cheek affectionately, "Only the best for my princess. Now, go on, get dressed. Stop dilly dallying."

Feeling stunned and lightheaded, Rachel wandered into a bathroom stall. She shed her work clothes, keeping the stilettos on. She stepped into the wedding gown. A perfect fit. She untied her hair from its tight work bun, letting her copper hair fall to her shoulders. Rachel stared at herself in the bathroom mirror.

She was blown away by the beautiful woman staring at her in the mirror. Her silk wedding gown swept down her body and trailed onto the floor like a waterfall. Her blue eyes shone brightly with wisdom, maturity, life-experience and love. She was a far cry from the spoilt frivolous bride who burst through the doors of Central Perk in 1994. Rachel stepped out of the bathroom.

Leonard let his tears fall freely down his face. It was the first time he let his daughter see him weep. She looked beautiful. She had grown into such a loving, resilient person, he was so proud of her. More than he could put into words. He initially disliked Ross, viewing him as a weak uncommitted man, but over the years, he had seen Ross mature, and it was plain to see that Ross loved Rachel every ounce as much as he did.

In Leonard's eyes, Ross had grown into a man worthy of his daughter. He was ready to give her away.

"Ready to get married, Pumpkin?" he asked gently.

Rachel nodded, her nerves rendering her mute. This ambush-wedding had left her speechless. She had no idea what to expect next. Rachel linked her arm around her father's arm, and let him escort her down the hospital corridor. Smiling doctors and nurses lined the corridor, congratulating her. Rachel heard the soft sounds of a beautiful familiar song wafting along the corridor.

_I never thought that I'd meet somebody like you… No, I don't want to fall in love, this world is only gonna break my heart, with you… _crowed a lamenting voice.

It was the song Ross played for her, the first time they made love with each other, on the Planetarium floor. Rachel's heart ached at the memory. Only Ross and Rachel knew the significance of that song. Leonard stopped in front of Emma's hospital room door.

He nodded at Rachel, "When you're ready, sweetheart."


	28. Prison Attack II

**PRISON ATTACK II**

Chandler slowly came to. The cell was still pitch black. Remembering his terrifying ordeal, he began thrashing around, screaming at the top of his lungs. He was surprised that he wasn't being muffled or restrained anymore, and that he was lying in bed, fully dressed. Hysterically, Chandler screamed and screamed and screamed. His anguished cries pierced the air like a siren.

Neighbouring prisoners sat up abruptly, glancing around frantically, whispering nervously to each other. They were deeply disturbed by Chandler's bloodcurdling screams. The two night-duty prison guards stumbled around the facility, flashing their torchlights everywhere, trying to determine the source of the sound. Realising where the screams were coming from, they ran to Chandler's cell, and started banging on his cell bars with a truncheon.

"Quiet down, quiet down! What seems to be the matter here?" the guard demanded.

Chandler's screams were reduced to subdued sobs. He curled up into the fetal position, sobbing like a child.

"You there! What you screaming for?"

Chandler buried his face in his hands, remaining mute. He wanted so badly to blurt out the inhumanity that had just been inflicted upon him, but a little voice inside his head prevented him from doing so. That little voice was shame and humiliation. He didn't want to let anyone know that he had been violated and emasculated in the most degrading of ways. The guard shone his torch on Eric's face.

"He must've had a nightmare. Poor bastard is always getting them," Eric lied, his voice filled with insincere empathy.

"You two didn't bully him, did you?" the guard squinted at the cellmates suspiciously.

Lucas piped up defensively, "Look, we don't pick on the weak kid, that's just cheap."

"Fair enough. Chandler, you get back to sleep now. Best you see the prison psychologist tomorrow, I'll book the appointment. You hang in there, Chandler," the guard said sympathetically.

When the guard left, Chandler glanced around the room; lost and disoriented. One minute he was being viciously raped, the next, he was lying in bed screaming. He was wearing all his clothes, and so were his cellmates. Had he dreamed this? He touched his behind, and gasped as a sharp pain shot through him. No, he definitely hadn't dreamed this. He heard a shuffling of feet, and felt Eric's hot breath on his neck.

"Did you enjoy that, f-g?" he whispered cruelly, "I know I did." Chandler heard Lucas snickering in the background.

"In case you were wondering, we redressed you and tucked you into bed, when you passed out. You can't compete with us in the _your-word-against-mine_ department."

A cascade of grief swept over Chandler. His entire body shuddered with sobs. His weeping was so heartbroken, it sounded like laughter. Chandler pulled the blanket over his head, desperately trying to shut the world out. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to imagine he was cuddled up to his wife and kids. He mouthed Monica's name over and over, silently calling out to her, trying in vain to lessen his anguish; trying in vain to imagine himself away from this terrible place.

He was trapped in a prison cell with his rapists, he missed his family terribly, and his goddaughter had falsely accused him of trying to murder her. It was little wonder that he was at the end of his rope, hurtling head first, into the deep end of a mental breakdown. His shattered, unhinged weeping carried along the corridors, making the hair on the necks of his neighbouring prisoners stand on end.


	29. Lobster Wedding II

**LOBSTER WEDDING II**

Rachel smoothed out her dress, took a large calming breath, and opened the door. Emma's room was dark, the curtains were drawn. A portable cd player sat on the floor, with a single CD spinning in it. A lamenting sound filled the room.

_The world was on fire and no one could save me but you... It's strange what desire will make foolish people do... I'd never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you... I'd never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you...  
_

The overhead projector Ross used for his university lectures sat in the middle of the room. It projected an image of a night sky. The entire room, the wall, the floor, the ceiling flooded with a beautiful starry night sky. The bright stars moved around in the dark room making it look like an intimate nightclub. The room was circled with lilies and lit candles, giving the place a romantic glow. Rachel's breath caught in her throat. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Ross had created the fantasy proposal he had described at his parents' wedding anniversary party, all those years ago. All of Rachel's friends and family sat in rows of plastic hospital chairs arranged on opposite sides of the room, leaving a pathway in the middle for an aisle.

Leonard nodded his head appreciatively, "It's really something, huh? I gotta tell you, that Wet-head of yours, he knows a thing or two." Rachel let out a snort of laughter, amidst her tears.

The projected night sky danced off everyone's warm smiling faces. At the very back of the room was Rachel's fiancé and daughter, standing side by side, hand in hand. Ross wore a classy tuxedo, and Emma, a frilly white princess dress, with a pastel blue ribbon around her waist. Joey stood by Ross's side, dressed in a hilariously tacky Priest's gown he rented from a fancy-dress shop.

Four bridesmaids stood in a row by Emma's side: Phoebe, Monica and Rachel's sisters. They were all dressed in beautiful black satin floor length gowns that matched the overhead projected night sky. They each held a bouquet of white lilies. Dr Greene escorted his daughter down the aisle, till she stood in front of her husband-to-be. Joey stepped forward, looking at Rachel pompously and regally. Rachel stifled a giggle.

"Please repeat after me. I, Rachel, take thee Ross, to be my lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, till death does us part."

"I, Rachel, take thee Ross to be my lawfully wedded husband, in sickness and in health, till death does us part," Rachel repeated.

Joey turned to Ross, "Now Ross, repeat after me. I, Ross, take thee Rachel, to be my lawfully wedding wife, in sickness and in health, till death does us part."

"I, Ross, take thee Rachel…"

The crowd roared with laughter, as they remembered that the last time Ross said they exact same words, a marriage to a British lady crashed and burned. Ross rolled his eyes and continued.

"To be my lawfully wedding wife, in sickness and in health, till death does us part."

"I now announce you husband and wife!" Joey beamed at the crowd. Ross raised his eyebrows expectantly at Joey, whispering, "Dude, aren't you forgetting something?" Joey squinted at Ross blankly.

"… Oh! Right! The ring!" Joey exclaimed, hastily passing Ross his grandmother's ring. For a moment, Ross's heart ached, as a fleeting thought crossed his mind: _If Chandler were here, he'd sarcastically quip sarcastically, "There it is!" _

Shaking the sad thought out of his head, Ross turned his attention back to Rachel. Beautiful, wonderful, gorgeous Rachel. The girl he had loved ever since he was a boy; the mother of his child; the love of his life. Ross slipped his grandmother's ring onto Rachel's finger.

Phoebe squeezed Emma's hand, squealing with delight, "See, Em? They're lobsters!"

Rachel wrapped her arms around Ross's waist, whispering, "Y'know, Ross, there's been so many times I thought we'd never make it, and yet, here we are."

"I've always known we'd make it."

"How come?" Rachel asked with awe.

"It's always been you, Rach."

Rachel closed her eyes and leaned into Ross. The crowd watched on, mesmerised, as Ross and Rachel kissed under the starry sky of the hospital planetarium.


	30. Lobster Wedding III

**LOBSTER WEDDING III**

"Speech, speech, speech, speech, speech, speech!" the entire room chanted.

Joey pressed a microphone into Rachel's hands. Rachel smiled shyly at the crowd, blushing. Impromptu speeches had never been her forte, as everyone knew from her train-wreck _Princess Bubbleyum _speech at Barry Farber's wedding all those years ago. Rachel stepped forward, nervously.

"Um… Hi everyone, I uh… thanks so much for being here on my wedding day. Wow… gosh I don't know what to say, I'm really blown away by all this. It really caught me by surprise. I mean, when daddy ambushed me with a wedding dress, I was really confused and overwhelmed; I had no idea what to expect."

"But this, right here, is beyond my wildest dreams, I couldn't have asked for a more beautiful wedding. Everything is just so intimate and personal. There's a whole story behind it, if you really want to know. It's pretty funny, actually," Rachel chuckled.

"Years ago Ross and I attended his parents' anniversary party, and Ross's parents were embarrassed that we were having Emma… out of wedlock, so they lied to everyone we had gotten married. So everyone was walking up to us congratulating us on our marriage, and asking us how to describe what our wedding was like."

"So, Ross and I thought it would be an opportunity to have a little fun making things up, y'know, get creative, get carried away. So, we told all sorts of ridiculous stories about what our wedding was like. I think I mentioned ice sculptures, a ten-tiered cake, a pure diamond necklace, and a Vera Wang wedding dress…"

"You're wearing a Vera Wang dress right now, honey! Only the best for my favourite daughter!" Leonard interrupted, tipsily lifting his champagne glass in the air. The crowd laughed, and Rachel's sisters scowled.

"Why yes I am!" Rachel laughed, twirling around girlishly. "Anyway, I don't really remember exactly what we both said that day, but I do remember one thing, that stuck in my mind throughout these years, because it touched me so deeply. One of Ross's aunts asked him how he proposed to me, and he launched into the most amazing beautiful description."

"He said that he proposed at the Planetarium, which he laced with white lilies and candles, and that he got down on one knee, and proposed to me underneath the Planetarium sky. I swear, I was completely won over at that moment, but of course, I wasn't gonna tell him that at the time, what with all my pride."

"And that beautiful haunting song Ross played for me as I was walking down the aisle? It's called _Wicked Games_. I'm not gonna lie, that song has a special meaning for the both of us. This is kind of embarrassing, but Ross and I… consummated our relationship at the Planetarium to this song," Rachel said coyly. Ross blushed. The entire room erupted into laughter and applause. Joey punched Ross in the arm, in approval.

Emma tugged Phoebe's dress, "Aunt Pheebs, what's Comsoonate mean?"

"You're gonna have to wait another 14 years before I answer that question," Phoebe laughed.

When the laughter died down, Rachel continued, "So now you know the story behind this wedding. I honestly never thought that the proposal Ross imagined all those years ago, would one day come true. My wedding… _Our _wedding wouldn't have been this amazing if it weren't for all of you."

"I love you all so much, and I am so blessed to have you all in my life. I want to thank my new husband Ross, and our beautiful, amazing little girl, Emma. Thank you for being _you. _I love you both so very much. And to my mom, dad, sisters; I love you guys to pieces."

"And last but not least, I want to thank the friends nearest and dearest to my heart. This goes out to Joey, Phoebe, Monica and Chandler."

The room fell silent and still, as everyone stared at Rachel in shock. Horrified at her mistake, Rachel clapped her hands over her mouth.

"Um…did she just thank the guy who tried to kill her kid?" Ursula Buffay asked incredulously. Phoebe elbowed Ursula hard in the ribs.

"Mommy…?" Emma whispered in hurt confusion.

Rachel backed away from the microphone, tripping over her stiletto heels. Feeling like a deer caught in headlights, Rachel hiked up her wedding dress, and stumbled quickly towards the exit, desperate to escape the sea of shocked faces.


	31. Plea Bargain

**PLEA-BARGAIN**

Chandler lay in bed alone in his cell, his blanket pulled up to his chin. It was mid-afternoon, and Eric and Lucas were out and about the correctional facility. Chandler felt relieved to have some time alone. His eyes were red and swollen from crying. He heard an announcement on the prison intercom.

"Chandler Muriel Bing, please make your way to the visitors' foyer, your attorney is here to see you."

They just _had_ to announce his middle name, didn't they? As if the other prisoners didn't already regard him with enough contempt. Chandler hauled himself out of bed, stiffly making his way to the foyer. He saw his lawyer behind the glass barrier, and sat down gingerly.

Noticing Chandler's puffy red eyes, attorney Olsen said, "I'm sure you must be upset about the testimony tape. Frankly, this case would've been a lot easier if the child had just…"

Olsen let his voice trail off, realising how grotesquely mean-spirited he sounded. This taxing job had turned Olsen from an optimistic idealistic man, to a mean, jaded and cynical one.

"Look, Chandler, as your lawyer, I'm sworn to secrecy. I cannot divulge anything you tell me. So tell me, did you stab her in a moment of stress? I know small children can be a handful."

Chandler stared into space dreamily. His mind was wandering; he wasn't paying attention to a single word the lawyer was saying.

"Chandler. Did you, or did you not stab the girl in a moment of stress?" Olsen reiterated emphatically.

Chandler remained silent, staring into space. To cope with the trauma of the rape, and to keep from descending into a mental breakdown, Chandler's mind was disassociating itself from the world around him. It was like he was watching his life from outer space. He felt empty, hollow, numb, indifferent and very distant.

"Chandler, I'm not going to rat you out, like I said, lawyer-client confidentiality. But it would really help if you could just throw me a bone, here."

Chandler remained mute, staring into space. A single tear made its way down his cheek. Mistaking Chandler's sad silence as an implied admission of guilt, Olsen shook his head, whispering, "You did it, didn't you? You stabbed the girl."

Chandler felt exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed. Olsen's voice sounded like meaningless mumbling to him. When Chandler didn't respond, Olsen looked up at the ceiling, and closed his eyes in fatigue.

"Chandler, now that I know the truth, I can't in good conscience pursue your plea of innocence. I suggest you plead guilty to aggravated assault, and I will work tirelessly to knock out the attempted murder charge. If the prosecution accepts aggravated assault, which I believe they will, because they want this over quickly as much as I do, you're looking at 7 to 10 years. Possibly 5 years if you're released on a good behaviour bond."

Chandler replayed the torture he had suffered at his cellmates' hands, over and over in his mind. The rape. It consumed him, it destroyed him. His humiliation was eating at his soul. He still hadn't listened to a single word Olsen had said. Olsen knocked on the glass barrier agitatedly. Startled, Chandler jolted awake from his daydream.

"Chandler, you have to meet me halfway, here. I can tell you that 5 years on a good behaviour bond is a low price to pay for almost killing a child. Tell me, how does that sound to you? Would that be acceptable to you?"

"Fine, ok," Chandler said indifferently, paying no attention to what Olsen was saying.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Chandler said vaguely. Olsen looked relieved.

"Ok, then. I'll meet with Prosecutor Gupta as soon as possible to negotiate your plea-bargain."

"Can I go now?" Chandler asked like a small lost boy.

Confused, Olsen frowned, "Yes, of course, I think we're done here." Chandler stood up, turned on his heel, and wandered away. Olsen watched him curiously.


	32. Dada

**DADA**

Pushing the pram into the visitor's foyer, Monica's heart dropped when she saw Chandler on the other side of the glass barrier. He looked so thin, pale and sleep-deprived. He looked like a completely shattered man. She pretended she couldn't see how broken he looked.

She put on as cheery a voice as she could muster, "Honey! The kids are here to see you!" Monica unbuckled Jack and Erica from their prams, and hauled them up to the glass.

Jack yelled in excitement, "Dada! Dada!" Monica clapped her hands proudly.

"Jack's learnt a new word, isn't that amazing! I've been practicing 'daddy' with the twins everyday! I thought I'd put 'mommy' on the backburner for the moment. See what a selfless wife I am? You know how competitive I am, so you can imagine how hard it was for me to bring myself to teach them 'daddy' before 'mommy'!" Monica gushed.

Chandler smiled half-heartedly. Monica felt taken-aback by his muted response. Erica pressed her little lips against the glass, giving her father a big wet smudgy kiss.

"Ewwwww yucky Ewica!" Jack squealed with delight, when he saw the smudge of saliva on glass.

Erica giggled and clapped her pudgy little hands. She stuck her tongue out at Jack playfully. Monica looked at Chandler, confused that he wasn't showing any amusement, warmth or affection towards his cheeky children. He looked so vacant and distant.

"Chan, I can tell that Rach really misses you. When she was making a speech at the wedding reception, she named you as one of the friends she treasures the most. It was a bit of a Freudian slip on her part," Monica said, attempting to cheer Chandler up.

"Right", Chandler replied vaguely. Monica felt chilled by Chandler's vacant and seemingly indifferent response to everything she said. It was completely out of character.

"Chandler, honey, are you ok? Is everything alright?" she asked anxiously.

Chandler forced a smile upon his face, "Yeah, everything's fine. Great."

Monica looked unconvinced. Monica pressed her hand against the glass. She felt disappointed when Chandler didn't meet her hand with his, like he usually did.

"Honey, I know Emma's testimony was a huge set back, but please don't lose hope, I need you to stay strong. The kids and I, we love you to pieces, and we're gonna be here for you, every step of the way. You're not going to be convicted."

"Kay," Chandler replied distantly.

"Chandler, what happened? What's the matter? I've never seen you this hollow before, not since… you thought Emma had died. Talk to me, please,"

Monica pleaded with Chandler. Chandler dabbed his eyes quickly with his orange jumpsuit. Sensing their father's distress, Jack and Erica fell silent. Jack pressed himself against the glass, with his arms extended, giving his dad a hug. Erica patted the glass sadly, as if she were patting her father's back. The kids missed being held by their father, terribly. They hated this glass barrier.

Monica's voice cracked with emotion, "Honey, I need you to let me in. I can't help you, if you won't let me in."

Monica rested her forehead against the glass, heartbroken to see the love of her life in such distress. Chandler willed himself to tell Monica that he had been viciously violently mercilessly gang-raped by his cellmates, and that he was still suffering the ultimate torment of being trapped in a cell with them. He couldn't do it.

The second he opened his mouth and tried to speak, no words came out. He simply couldn't bring himself to share with anyone, his ultimate emasculation, humiliation and debasement. Every minute of every hour of everyday, he could still feel the unwanted hands all over him; and the excruciating pain from the penetration.

"Chandler, please," Monica whispered.

Chandler opened and closed his mouth, trying to force himself to speak. Silent tears coursed down his pale face, as he struggled to get the words out. His blue eyes looked bruised from many sleepless nights. His body quivered with anxiety. He had become rake-thin. He looked like he was teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown.

Monica had managed to stay strong and confident in front of Chandler ever since the accident. She had made sure to cry only behind closed doors, away from her children and husband's eyes, because she knew she had to be a tower of strength in front of them. But sitting here, seeing Chandler so completely broken, Monica couldn't hold her emotions in anymore. She burst into tears, shuddering as the sobs escaped her. Jack and Erica threw their arms around their mum, burying their faces in her shirt.

Sobbing, Monica pleaded, "Chan, please, I don't know why you're shutting me out. Please, Chan, I love you so much! I just need you to tell me what's wrong, I can't help you if I don't know!"

Chandler opened his mouth again to tell Monica the truth, but he literally felt physically incapable of doing so. Instead, without another word, he stood up abruptly, and stumbled out of the visitor's foyer, almost running back to his cell.

He heard Monica cry out to him, "Chandler!"

Racing back to his cell, he threw himself under the covers, feeling utterly heartbroken and furious at himself for making Monica cry. Why couldn't he just tell her? Logically, he knew the rape wasn't his fault, and yet, in his heart of hearts, he felt as though it were. He couldn't fight the waves of self-blame stewing in his heart.

_What if I had fought them harder? What if I had screamed louder? What if I had kicked harder? What if I had been a more likable person? A more masculine person? _

He felt so cheap, dirty and repulsive. His skin was starting to flake, from how hard he scrubbed himself every time he took a shower. It seemed no matter how hard he scrubbed, he couldn't clean the violation away. He almost threw up when he heard his cellmates laughing, and saw them skip into the cell. He couldn't escape them. They were here, everywhere, all the time.

They regarded him soberly, leaving him be. Despite being cruel vicious people, even they had begun to feel a touch of guilt. They knew they had pushed the envelope, completely overstepped a line, and this broken shell of a man was all that was left.


	33. Negotiation I

**NEGOTIATION I**

Rachel hoisted Emma onto her hips, and Emma wrapped her arms around Rachel's neck, burying her face in Rachel hair. Dr Montgomery handed Ross a pile of paperwork detailing Emma's physiotherapy, medication and check-up routine, and pulled him into the tight hug. She smiled brightly at the family she had spent such a substantial amount of time healing.

"Congratulations Emma, Ross, Rachel, you're all free to go home now. Remember, Emma needs to come into the hospital for a general check-up in two weeks. Other than that, she's in wonderful health, and I expect her to make a complete recovery."

Ross wrapped one arm around Rachel's waist, and the family of three walked out of the cold sterile white hospital, and into the bright warm sunshine. Closing her eyes, Emma turned her little face towards the sun, soaking in its beautiful warmth. For countless months, it had been nothing but artificial fluorescent lights, the natural sunshine felt incredible. The family sat down in front of the hospital, on the grass, under a tree.

Emma lay flat on her stomach resting her cheek against the warm grass. She plucked a wildflower and breathed in its scent. Boy, did she miss the outdoors. Ross leaned against a tree, and Rachel lay on the grass, resting her head in his lap. For the first time in countless months, Ross, Rachel and little Emma felt the warm glow of peace settle in their hearts.

They lay together in the sunshine, taking stock of the long dark tunnel they had finally managed to climb out of. Ross and Rachel felt immense pride of their small daughter, who had developed so much resilience throughout this trying ordeal. Soon, it would be Emma's 5th birthday, and what a milestone that would be, considering that not so long ago, she was knocking on death's door.

* * *

Attorney Olsen set his briefcase down, and sat down before Prosecutor Gupta.

"I understand you're interested in plea-bargaining," Gupta commented.

"Yes, in light of the victim's witness testimony, I think it's fitting to discuss a plea-bargain. My client will plead guilty to aggravated assault, if you drop the attempted murder charges."

"You drive a hard bargain for a man whose client physically stabbed a small child with a knife."

"I disagree. As you're aware, only just 6 years ago, attacking a person in the heat of the moment would not constitute attempted murder; the charges would be lowered to aggravated assault on grounds of provocation."

"Ah, the old _'heat of the moment', 'crime of passion' _argument. Tell me, what could a tiny child have possible done to provoke such a heated response from your client? You know full well the crime of passion argument is generally run only for spousal attacks."

"He was looking after three small children. The girl admitted she was throwing a temper tantrum and physically lashing out at him. He coincidentally and unfortunately, was holding a knife with which he was using to prepare the children's meal. It is likely he intended to hit her, but momentarily forgot he was holding a knife," Olsen replied. Gupta stared at Olsen with narrow eyes, appraising him intently.

Olsen continued, "Look, there's no doubt my client wanted to hurt the child, but can you honestly say beyond a reasonable doubt, he intended to kill her? The victim testified as to my client's _actions, _but she cannot know the actual workings of his mind. If you keep pushing for attempted murder, you may well end up with his complete exoneration. Do you really want to risk that?"

Gupta drummed his fingernails against the table. He thought about the extremely limited government funds he had to work with, and the long string of other cases he needed to deal with. He stood up, and offered his hand to Olsen. Olsen shook it uncertainly.

"Fine, you got yourself a deal. In exchange of a plea of guilt for aggravated assault, I will drop the attempted murder charges."

Olsen beamed up at Gupta triumphantly. Gupta pointed one finger at Olsen, warning, "No, no, don't be so pleased with yourself. I'm giving you this one solely because the child has almost fully recovered from the attack. Had she died or been permanently crippled, you'd see me running the attempted murder line to _death, _so to speak."

Prosecutor Gupta gathered his documents together, and swept out of the room.


	34. Negotiation II

**NEGOTIATION II**

Monica stepped into Attorney Olsen's office. Olsen pulled up a seat for Monica, and fetched a mug of tea for her. She sipped daintily on the mug, drumming her fingers anxiously on Olsen's table.

"Mrs Bing, I called you in to inform you that your husband has agreed to a plea of guilt, on the charge of aggravated assault, in exchange for the prosecutor dropping the attempted murder charge."

Monica choked on her tea in shock. She spluttered, "What!" she demanded in horror. "Plea? Of guilt? What? What are you talking about?"

Olsen passed Monica a tissue. "Your husband stabbed the child on purpose ma'am, in a moment of stress."

"No, no, no, did he actually _say _this? Or are you just surmising?" Monica demanded, incredulously.

"He didn't have to, ma'am, he-"

"Ohhh! So you just _surmised? _You're throwing an innocent man into jail because of a _guess_? An _assumption_? The hell's the matter with you!" Monica yelled at her lawyer in rage.

"Look, calm down, Mrs Bing. What I meant to say, is that when I repeatedly asked him if he stabbed the girl, he remained silent, and started crying. An innocent man would undoubtedly immediately protest. Your husband consistently refused to make eye-contact with me, and refused to answer my very simple question. He burst into tears when I asked if he's guilty. I can only assume that-"

"The only thing you can _assume, _Mr Olsen, is that Chandler is innocent! He never confessed, you just assumed from his behaviour! Who the hell do you think you are? A psychologist? You're a lawyer, you should assume a man is innocent until _proven _guilty! Your cheap backwater psycho-analysis of my husband doesn't mean a Goddamned thing!" Monica shrieked.

Olsen glared coldly at Monica through narrow eyes. "Look, Ma'am, at the end of the day, it is Mr Bing's choice on how we proceed. He has given me his _verbal _consent to plead guilty to aggravated assault. In any case, I've already confirmed with the Prosecutor, and he has accepted this plea-bargain, so really, your husband's guilty plea is a done deal."

With blue eyes blazing, Monica leaned into Olsen, "I don't give a shit what the prosecutor agreed with. I will not have my husband go down for a crime he didn't commit. If you insist on pleading anything less than _complete innocence_, I will sue you for negligence. I will drag your reputation as a defence lawyer through the mud, till nobody in the legal profession has any shred of respect for you left. You will spend the next 5 years in court as a _defendant. _Don't think I won't do it, I will mortgage my house if I have to, because I am a woman with nothing left to lose."

Olsen felt his forehead bead with sweat. This woman was frightening, and hearing her venomous words, he had no doubt she could and _would_ do it. This was not a woman to fuck with. Wringing his hands nervously, Olsen replied uncertainly.

"Right, okay, well look, like I said, at the end of the day, the pleadings are your husband's choice, and I have done nothing wrong, given that your husband verbally consented to guilty pleadings. You'll have to discuss this with him if you seek to cancel the guilty pleadings."

Monica remained mute, staring fiercely at Olsen. Staring at the woman who looked, in his opinion, to be slightly unhinged, he added reluctantly, "Fine, ok, I'll call Prosecutor Gupta and tell him we haven't yet decided on the appropriate pleadings yet."

"Good." Monica stood up abruptly, marching out of the lawyer's office, adding, "By the way, we won't be needing your services any more. You'll find your last pay cheque in the mail."

Monica shut the door behind her. Olsen sat rooted to the spot, bewildered. Dialling Phoebe's number, Monica paced up and down her living room, feeling keyed-up and anxious. She hoped to God, Phoebe would do this enormous favour for her. She wasn't sure if it would happen, as it involved taking sides between her and Chandler; or Ross and Rachel.

"Hi, Pheebs, it's me."

"Mon, are you ok? You sound pretty upset…"

"I'm fine, Pheebs. I need you to persuade Mike to represent Chandler."

"What? _My _Mike?"


	35. Nobody's Home

**NOBODY'S HOME**

Monica's heart broke when she saw Chandler sit before her. He looked worse than ever. Gaunt, pale, with red puffy eyes, dishevelled greasy hair, and a nervous flighty air about him. She pressed the palm of her hand against the glass barrier. Chandler stared vacantly into space, not meeting her hand. Her husband had never looked so emotionally unstable. He looked like a ghost. He was just an empty shell, and nobody was home. Monica felt the beginnings of panic rise up in her chest. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down.

"Honey?" asked tentatively.

Chandler continued staring into space, seemingly lost in tormenting thoughts. Monica knocked gently on the glass. Chandler snapped out of his daydream, glancing around the room in confusion, before finally locking eyes with Monica.

"Honey, the defence lawyer said you agreed to plead guilty to aggravated assault, is this true?" Monica asked gently. Chandler nodded vaguely.

"You did? Honey, why? Why would you do that?" Monica asked, fighting to keep the shock out of her voice.

Chandler shrugged indifferently, slouching against his seat. Monica persisted.

"Chandler, I need to know why. I need to know why you did that. Do you realise aggravated assault will get you an average of 8 years imprisonment? Did you know that?" Monica pressed anxiously.

Chandler replied like a rebellious small child, "Yeah so?"

Monica stared at him incredulously, "Yeah so? _Yeah so?_ 8 years, Chandler, 8 years for a crime you didn't commit! Why? Why would you agree to that? Why would anyone agree to that?" Monica said increasingly shrill.

"Why not?" Chandler replied nonchalantly.

"BECAUSE YOU'RE INNOCENT, GODAMMIT!" Monica exclaimed, slamming her fist against the glass barrier in frustration.

Shocked, Chandler stared at Monica with wide watery blue eyes. Tears spilled down his cheeks, and his thin pale frame shook like a leaf. Monica ached to the very depths of her soul, seeing her husband this way. She touched the glass barrier gently, as though she were touching Chandler's face.

"Chandler, honey, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. Please, honey, I didn't mean to upset you…" Monica apologised profusely. "Chandler, I cancelled your guilty plea. I need you to fight, please," Monica whispered.

A look of sheer exhaustion crossed Chandler's face, "Words can't describe how tired I am. I want this over. All of this, whatever you're expecting of me, I'm done. I can't do this anymore."

"For the life of me, I can't understand why you've given up on yourself. But I haven't given up on you, and I never will_._ Jack and Erica need their father, and I need my husband, because God knows how lonely I am. Tell me you're still here, Chandler, tell me you'll fight this with me," Monica pleaded.

Chandler tried to force himself to confess to Monica, that which was eating him alive, the gang-rape at the hands of his vicious cellmates. But he couldn't. He couldn't find the words to express his ultimate debasement, and so, he just stared at his feet, and spoke in a flat distant voice to mask his pain.

"I'm gonna call it a day now, head back to my cell. I'm beyond exhausted." Monica closed her eyes in defeat, nodding sadly at Chandler, as he stood up and walked away.


	36. New Counsel

**NEW COUNSEL**

Attorney Olsen dialled Prosecutor Gupta's number. "Hi, it's Louis Olsen."

"Ah, Bing's defence attorney!" Gupta said good-naturedly.

"I have a favour to ask of you."

"You've already asked a favour of me, which I graciously accepted. Surely you haven't forgotten the guilty plea?" the prosecutor teased lightly.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Bing's wife rejected the plea-bargain." Attorney Olsen said tersely.

"Hang on, we had a deal. I've been building this case on the basis that Bing pleads guilty to aggravated assault, and now you're backing out?" Gupta demanded.

"The wife ended my services, I'm not Bing's attorney anymore." Olsen said through gritted teeth.

"She _fired_ you? Well that's news," Gupta smirked.

"She's a crazy bitch. I pity the next lawyer who takes her on." Olsen muttered.

"Now now, no need to get testy. I'll tell you what. No hard feelings from me even though I'm gonna have to start over," Gupta smiled.

Olsen raised his eyebrows, "It's not like you to be easy-going."

"Well hey, you were fired. It's the least I could do," Gupta smiled.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Olsen grumbled.

"Lighten up, a little setback is good for you. Consider it a lesson in Humility," Gupta chuckled.

Olsen glared at Gupta, "I'm glad my failings are so amusing to you. Now that you're duly informed, I'll be on my way."

* * *

"Hi, Pheebs, it's me," Phoebe recognised the tense, tightly-wound voice immediately.

"Mon, are you ok? You sound pretty upset…" she asked tentatively.

"I'm fine, Pheebs. I need you to persuade Mike to represent Chandler." Phoebe's eyebrows shot up into the air.

"_My _Mike?" Phoebe asked, bewildered. She sure didn't expect that request.

"Yes."

"Mon, he's not a lawyer anymore, he's a musician now. I mean, I love him to pieces, but he plays piano at an old folks home, so I'm not sure why you're interested in him," Phoebe replied, confused.

"I did my research, and from what I can tell, he's the best Defence Attorney in New York. All the legal journals, firms and High Court justices recommend him. He is uncannily talented at jury-selection, and he has the highest ratio of wins, appeals, overturned judgements and shortened sentences of any American Defence Attorney for the last 15 years."

"Wow Jeez, I had no idea he was such a shark… Although I did get a glimpse of that side of him when we played table tennis in Barbados years ago..." Phoebe said awestruck.

"Look, I know he hasn't practiced in years, and I know there's a multitude of other lawyers I could choose from, but I can't settle on anything less than best, what with Emma's testimony hanging over our heads," Monica pressed.

"I thought you had the best, what's wrong with your current lawyer?"

"Our current lawyer is judgemental, arrogant, half-assed douche. He doesn't even believe in Chandler's innocence. Pheebs, he tried to shove aggravated assault down my throat. I can't let Chandler plead guilty to that."

"Mon, I don't know if I should… you're all my friends. I really believed Chandler was innocent, and on most days I still do; but ever since Emma's testimony, I'm really confused. I just don't wanna take sides," Phoebe struggled.

"Sounds like you _are_ taking sides," Monica muttered.

"Mon, please don't be mad. I love you. I love both you and Chandler, but I also love Ross and Rachel, and I don't know what to believe anymore," Phoebe whispered.

Ever since Emma's testimony, _'torn' _did not begin to describe how both she and Joey felt. She longed so badly for the good old days, when they were all one big friendship group. Now that the group was fractured into two camps, Phoebe and Joey were at a loss as to what to do. Who was lying? Chandler or Emma? She wished she knew.

"I'm not mad, I'm just grasping at straws here. Look, I'm not going to ask Mike to represent us if you don't want him to. That's why I called you first, instead of going straight to Mike. I didn't want to do this behind your back."

"And I appreciate it, I do, I just-"

"Phoebe, don't. Don't answer just yet. Sleep on it, talk to Mike. Just… tell me you'll think about it, please." Monica pleaded.

"I will, Mon, I promise," Phoebe whispered earnestly.


	37. Suicide

**SUICIDE**

Chandler pushed his hand underneath Lucas's mattress, fishing for the shard of glass Lucas had pressed against Chandler's neck on the night of the rape. Finding it, Chandler sat on his bed, staring at it. Taking a deep breath, he pressed it into his wrist. The sharp sting felt soothing. It was nice to feel a pain other than emotional pain. He ran the glass down from the top of his wrist, to above his elbow, tracing the vein, opening up his skin.

The sharp pain was excruciatingly satisfying. Chandler felt pleased to see the blood gushing out of his arm. Soon it would all be over, this emotional pain. The gang-rape, the prison, the false accusations from his goddaughter. Chandler felt himself slipping away. His mind was getting heavy, his thoughts were getting cloudy; the fluorescent prison lights were growing dimmer. His life flashed before him. He saw everyone near and dear to his heart. Ross, Rachel, Joey, Phoebe, his parents, Monica, Erica, Jack.

Monica. Erica. Jack.

This would destroy them. He couldn't leave Monica a widow; and he couldn't leave his children fatherless. They would never recover from this. It would be a cruel and horrible thing for him to leave them behind. He loved them so much.

Just like that, he changed his mind. What the hell had he been thinking, betraying them like that?

Fighting against the fog of unconsciousness closing in on him, he rummaged through his cell, blood pouring out of his wound. He snatched up an orange jacket and bandaged it over his wound. He stumbled out of the cell, desperate to find a guard to take him to the prison hospital. He called out dizzily to the people around him, and collapsed on the cement floor, blacking out, in a pool of his own blood.

On top of shifts as an Ophthalmologist at the state hospital, Dr Richard Burke spent his free time volunteering as a General Practitioner at the prison hospital. He had plenty of free time, given that he was still a single man. The prison guards wheeled an unconscious prisoner into the room. Richard did a double-take of utter shock as he recognised the familiar face before him.

_Good God, Chandler Bing? What's he doing in prison? What the hell has happened to the poor bastard? _

It had been years since Richard had spoken to Monica. She had always been the one that got away. After all these years, and an endless stream of girlfriends, in his eyes, none ever matched up to Monica. After all these years, he still held a candle up to Monica. Richard knew Monica had married Chandler, but any subsequent events in her life, he knew nothing about.

Snapping out of his private reverie, Richard hastily got to work. He removed the blood-soaked jacket from Chandler's arm, cleaned the wound with iodine solution, injected the arm with painkillers, sewed the wound with dissolvable thread, and wrapped the arm with gauze bandage. Richard tended to other patients, while he waited for Chandler to come to.

Chandler's eyes fluttered open. He squinted against the bright hospital lights. Glancing around the room, he felt utterly relieved to realise he was still alive. What a stupid, foolish, selfish thing he had done, he chided himself. He thanked God he had survived, and hadn't left his wife and kids alone in the world.

He saw a tall, handsome man with ashy black hair, and a prominent moustache walk towards him. My God, was it really him? Richard Burke, the love of Monica's life? Richard squeezed Chandler's hand warmly.

"Chandler, how are you feeling?" he asked sympathetically.

"Richard? Is that you?"

"Yes it is. I didn't think we'd ever see each other again. Are you still married to that beautiful wife of yours?"

Chandler nodded. Knowing Chandler had attempted suicide; Richard was keen on highlighting the positives of Chandler's life, so Chandler would know he had something to live for.

"Well, you're a lucky man, Chandler. She's always been the one that got away. I've never stopped loving her, and she's never stopped loving _you_. In fact, almost touching pensioners age, I'm still a bachelor, so it looks like I'm the one who's _choking on his own moustache_," Richard spoke kindly, jokingly reiterating the amusing phrase he'd heard Chandler use often, so many years ago.

"Yes, I'm a lucky man," Chandler whispered.

"Would you like to see her? I haven't notified her yet; as I wasn't sure what you wanted me to do." If Monica found out Chandler had attempted suicide, it would emotionally shatter her. No, for her sake, she could never know.

"No, don't call her; I don't want her to know I did this to myself, it would tear her up."

"I understand. But is there anyone else close to you that you'd like to call? I really think you could use some emotional support right now."

Chandler thought about it. From what he knew, it seemed Phoebe had some personal experience with sexual assault, having been spit in the mouth by a pimp. She was also probably, emotionally the toughest of them all, what with all her street-life experience. She seemed like the perfect person to confide in.

"Call Phoebe Buffay."


	38. Truth I

**TRUTH I**

"Hi, this is Dr Burke."

"Burke? As in _fought-for-Mon-but-lost-to-Chandler_, grandpa Richard?" Phoebe teased light-heartedly.

Richard chuckled. "Yes, yes indeed. I'm calling about Chandler Bing."

"Is he ok? What's happened?" Phoebe demanded, instantly alarmed.

"He's alright. He's out of the woods for now. He's at the hospital, and he wants to see you."

"Of course, I'll come right away! What happened to him?"

"I'm not at liberty to say; doctor-patient confidentiality, but I'm sure he'll tell you. Do you know where the correctional facility hospital is, Phoebe?"

"Yes, yes I do, I've visited many of my friends from when I was living on the streets. I'm on my way now." Phoebe hung up the phone.

Phoebe leapt off the bus, rushing towards the correctional facility, out of breath, and panting. A prison guard issued her a visitor's pass; ran a metal detector over her, and escorted her to the prison hospital. Phoebe's face blanched when she saw how gaunt, pale and broken Chandler looked. Richard nodded respectfully at her, and walked away, giving the two privacy. Phoebe bent over the bed, taking Chandler's face between her hands. She kissed his forehead gently.

"My God Chandler, what happened to you? You look awful," she whispered, heartbroken.

"Way to kick me when I'm down," Chandler joked weakly.

"Chandler…" Phoebe chided gently.

"Pheebs, I wanted to, I tried to…"

Phoebe saw Chandler's heavily bandaged arm; and a very distinct hollow look in his eyes that she had once seen in her mother, all those years ago. Phoebe's heart sank to the pit of her stomach.

"Chandler, please tell me you didn't try to…" Phoebe let her voice trail off.

Chandler was grateful Phoebe understood without explanation. Joey was the first person Chandler wanted to call. The guy was his best friend, after all. But then he imagined having to explain this to Joey. Joey had never been the sharpest tool in the tool-shed, and the last thing Chandler needed was to be forced to say it out loud… _I tried to kill myself by slitting my wrist with a shard of glass, Joey!_

"Chandler, talk to me," Phoebe prompted gently.

"I tried to, but I changed my mind. I couldn't bear the thought of leaving Mon, Jack and Erica behind," Chandler admitted, ashamed.

Phoebe nodded her head soberly. There wasn't a trace of judgement in her eyes, only empathy and understanding. Chandler knew she was had been the right person to call. She was the only person with the terrible life experience to understand the depths of his grief.

"Chan, can I ask you, why you… tried to?" Phoebe asked uncertainly.

"That's why I called you; something happened, and it's been eating me alive. I can't bear to tell Mon, it would break her heart."

"Chan, what happened? Did someone hurt you? Did one of the prisoners hurt you?" Phoebe asked tentatively.

"Yes, how did you know?" Chandler asked, bewildered by Phoebe's accurate insight.

"I've been in prison before; I know ins and outs of that place. So if someone's bullying you, you can tell me, I'd understand," Phoebe pried gently.

"It's more than that, Pheebs," Chandler replied vaguely.

"What, Chandler, what did they do?" Phoebe pressed.

"This was a bad idea, I don't think I can do this," Chandler backtracked. Phoebe grasped Chandler firmly by the shoulders, looking deeply into his eyes.

"Yes you can, Chandler, tell me. Whatever it is, I can help you if you let me," Phoebe insisted.

"No, really, I can't. You should leave, I shouldn't have called," Chandler faltered.

"I'm not leaving till you tell me what's hurting you. Just tell me, and I'll help you." Phoebe said, almost aggressively.

"My inmates…" Chandler struggled.

"What, Chandler, what did they do? Tell me," Phoebe pleaded.

"They raped me," he whispered.


	39. Truth II

**TRUTH II**

The hospital lights danced before Phoebe's eyes. She grasped tightly on the bed railing, steadying herself. Her emotions were getting the better of her. She couldn't afford to lose it in front of Chandler. She had to stay calm for him. She took large slow breaths, calming herself down. Phoebe had thought life could not possibly unravel further than it already had. How wrong she was. She squeezed Chandler's hands tightly.

"Chan, have you told anyone else about this?" she said through shuddered breath.

"Just you, and I intend to keep it that way," Chandler muttered.

Phoebe tucked a lock of Chandler's hair behind his ear, "Honey, you need to tell someone. The prison guards, if they know, they'll transfer you to another prison. And the police, you can't let those sick goddamned… you can't let them get away with this, please," Phoebe stuttered, blinking back tears.

"I'm exhausted," Chandler sighed.

"Chandler, please, you've got to do something about this. You can't stay here, not like this," Phoebe pleaded.

"I'll ask for a transfer," Chandler whispered. Phoebe nodded vigorously.

"Ok, thank God, good, you can't possibly keep living with them, for your safety… Christ, for your own sanity! And what about the police, pressing charges?" Phoebe asked tentatively.

"I can't. I'm already in over my head with this court case. I can't deal with another one running simultaneously." Chandler muttered.

"Ok, but have you had a medical examination? Have you taken a rape-kit test? Because that's what they do, after that kind of attack, they collect evidence for trial. They file it away in case you want to prosecute. Chan, I know this stuff, I've been through the justice system before. So have you? Have been examined?" Chandler groaned, overwhelmed by Phoebe's questions.

"I can't deal with a second court case," he said hollowly.

"I can help you, Chan, whatever you need, I can do it. Just tell me what you need, Chandler, I'm 100% here for you," Phoebe insisted.

"What I _need_, is for you to stop harassing me, just give me one goddamned moment, alright?" Chandler snapped.

"Ok, I'm sorry. I just… I don't want you to look back on this and regret that you didn't punish them. Chan, there's a limited window of opportunity for these things. Once the evidence is gone, it's gone for good. I just don't want you to regret," Phoebe's voice quivered.

"And _I_ don't want to stand up in front of a room full of strangers and announce every sordid little detail of how two men held me down and sodomised me! Is that so fucking hard for you to understand?" Chandler's eyes blazed with rage.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I just know what the law is like, I've been on the receiving end of it. But I get that you can't bring yourself to… I understand completely, I do, but please, just please, tell me what to do. Tell me how to help you, I love you Chandler, just tell me what you need," Phoebe pleaded, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"Promise me you won't tell anyone about this," Chandler insisted.

"Chan, you could really use Mon's support, she's your wife," Phoebe pressed.

"I mean it. You asked me to tell you how you can help me, and I'm telling you to promise me. Promise me you won't tell anyone. Not a soul, I mean it," Chandler said fiercely.

"Chandler, please, Mon loves you so much, she's always been there for you, let her-"

"Don't," Chandler interrupted.

"Mon's the toughest one of us all, and I really think you need-"

"DON'T PRESUME TO KNOW WHAT I NEED!" Chandler's voice boomed across the quiet hospital ward. Richard glanced up in shock.

"You haven't got a fucking clue what I'm going through," Chandler added through gritted teeth.

"Ok, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry…" Phoebe replied, her throat constricting with emotions. She felt like she was choking.

"And quit it with the apologies, the tears, the goddamn pity," Chandler snapped.

"Ok," Phoebe whispered sadly. Chandler knew he was being unfair to his friend, but he was in so much emotional pain, he had to lash out at somebody, anybody.

"Look, Pheebs, I'm going to ask to be transferred, but this telling people about it, taking it to court, announcing all the details, I can't do it. I swear to God I'm just not ready. I feel disgusting and pathetic, and I can't bring myself to put this on Mon. She's under enough pressure as it is. This would destroy her."

_It's destroying me too, _Phoebe thought to herself.

"I need you to promise me that you'll keep this to yourself, because that is all I'm asking of you," Chandler said emphatically.

Phoebe's breath shuddered. It tore her up, having to keep such a terrible secret. Letting those bastards get away with this went against her most basic instincts. Phoebe stroked Chandler's hair sadly.

"Ok, Chandler, I promise."

Chandler leaned back against his pillow, relieved. He felt a sudden urge to shut Phoebe out, he hated feeling this vulnerable, he needed her to leave. "Thanks… I'm glad you're here, but I need some alone time now, if that's ok with you," he said stiffly.

Phoebe kissed Chandler's forehead, and let the guard escort her out of the premises. As she stepped beyond the barb wire gate, pale, shaken and miserable, a dark thought snaked its way into her mind. Dipping her hand into her pocket, she pulled out her phone and dialed.

"Hi, I need to call in a favour," she said.


	40. Street Phoebe

**STREET PHOEBE **

"I need to be transferred to another facility, or at least another cell," Chandler said in as confident a voice as he could muster. Even before he spoke, his confidence was failing him.

"If you have a complaint about the standard of accommodation or the state of the food here, fill out a form and we'll get back to you," the prison officer sighed.

"No, it's not that," Chandler muttered.

"What is it then? I haven't got all day," the officer snapped.

"My cellmates… it's hard to put into words, they… they've been awful, to say the least," Chandler struggled.

"Define awful," the officer grumbled.

"They actually... well, they attacked me," Chandler admitted.

"They attacked you? How? When? Where? We get a lot of complaints of this nature, so you'll have to be more specific," the officer said curtly. Chandler remained mute, staring at his feet.

"The way I see it son, I don't see a single mark on you. So either you be forthcoming with me, or I'm in no position to help you," the officer sighed.

Feeling backed into the corner, for he wasn't ready to admit the humiliating truth, Chandler stood up mumbling, "Sorry to have wasted your time."

Chandler trudged back to his cell, his insides twisted in agony, his stomach almost rebelling against him, and his head throbbing with the beginnings of a migraine. His misery was really beginning to eat into his health.

_Am I to spend the rest of my life trapped in a cell with the men who raped me, for a crime I never committed? All because I cannot bring myself to admit the truth? _

It was absolutely breathtaking how much, within the blink of an eye his life had disappeared into the gutter. As Chandler stepped towards his cell, an inmate he'd never spoken to before stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Chandler felt pangs of panic rise in his chest. What did this stranger want with him? Was he about to get prison-bashed? God knows he already had more than enough trauma to deal with. To his surprise, the inmate squeezed his shoulder gently.

"Let me know if they give you any more trouble. A friend of Phoebe's is a friend of mine," the inmate whispered in Chandler's ear.

As the inmate walked away, Chandler gasped in shock at the sight before him. His cellmates Eric and Lucas lay crumpled on the cell floor, their faces swollen black and blue, and their limbs twisted at inhuman angles. He heard their pained muffled moans and saw the smear of blood across the prison floor. Chandler glanced around the facility. All the prisoners were walking by quickly, averting their eyes, refusing to get involved.

_Christ, Phoebe, what have you done? _

Rushing over to kneel by his cell mates, his first instinct was to help them, to cover up their wounds, splint their broken limbs, to call for help… But as he reached over to attend to them, a dark thought washed over him.

He remembered how they dragged him by his hair; pressed his face into the mattress, almost suffocated him; forced themselves into him; abused him in the worst, most degrading way; completely erased his humanity. And in that moment, any shred of sympathy he felt towards them evaporated into thin air. As much as it chilled him to admit it, he felt satisfied seeing his cellmates lying bloodied on the floor. Grasping a fistful of their blood-matted hair, he pulled their faces towards him, and stared them straight in the eyes.

"Let's hope for your sake, you never fuck with me again," Chandler whispered. Lucas and Eric shifted uncomfortably under his icy blue stare.

"Here's what'll happen. I'll have the prison guards attend to you, and you'll inform them that you need to be transferred to another facility immediately. You got me?" Chandler asked coldly.

Lucas and Eric nodded weakly. Standing up, Chandler walked away, leaving his cellmates crumpled on the floor. For the first time since Emma's accident, Chandler felt the veil of paralysing helplessness and depression lift over him. It was replaced with the bittersweet sense of vindication, and a biting rage at the injustice that had been inflicted upon him. This newfound bitterness fed him, fuelled him, _empowered _him. Finally, the moment Monica had been waiting for, Chandler had come back to life. He was ready to fight for his freedom.

"Thank you Phoebe," he whispered.


	41. Represent

**REPRESENT **

"Who's this?" Mike Hannigan asked.

"Chandler Bing. I only get one 20 minute phone call a week, and instead of calling my wife I'm calling you, so fingers crossed, this will amount to something," Chandler said.

"Um alright… What can I do for you, Chandler?" Mike asked perplexed.

"Monica fired my lawyer, with good reason too, and I'd like you to represent me."

"Me? I'm not a lawyer anymore, I'm a musician. I haven't practiced in years, you know that," Mike replied stunned.

"Monica told me your credentials, and I don't want to settle for any lesser lawyer," Chandler said matter-of-factly.

"It's awesome you think so highly of me, but-"

"C'mon, what will it take to get you back into the game?" Chandler insisted.

"You sound very… lively and spirited," Mike said, confused, "Not at all how Phoebe, Monica and Joey have been describing you… if you don't mind me saying, I got the impression you were suffering from a severe bout of…" Mike's voice faltered.

"Depression? Misery? Helplessness? Hopelessness? Self-Destruction?" Chandler finished impatiently.

"Well, yes, something like that," Mike mumbled uncomfortably.

"Mike, something happened to me recently. I won't go into details, but suffice to say, for the first time since Emma's accident, I feel empowered, angry and alive, all at the same time. I'm ready to fight these false allegations."

"It's fantastic you've come through this… depression, but I don't know, it's been ages since I've practiced, I'm not sure if I'd do you justice," Mike said reluctantly.

"Sure you would, I trust Mon's judgement. Please, as an old friend, take on one more case, then you're free to hang up the suit and tie for good," Chandler pressed.

"How about I talk to Pheobe and get back to you? I'm not sure how she'd feel about this, what with being friends with you, Ross and Rach... I'll take you on if Pheebs is happy for me to do so," Mike suggested.

"Works with me," Chandler agreed.

* * *

"Michael Hannigan. I thought you'd quit the game, didn't know you were still practicing!" Mike cringed at the awfully familiar voice behind him.

Attorney Olsen slapped Mike on the back with insincere friendliness. Mike and Olsen had always been arch rivals in the litigious world, ever since they attended law school together. Olsen had been secretly joyous when Mike quit practicing to become a musician.

"So did I, but I was persuaded into taking one more case before a call off my legal career," Mike chuckled.

"I see. And what is it you do these days? Last I heard, you were slumming it with a keyboard at an Old Folk's home. Still tinkering around on the piano? Still digging that tall hippy of yours?" Mike bristled at Olsen's condescension.

"I don't _tinker _around on my piano, it's my career now. And for your information, I _married _the tall hippy. Her name is Phoebe, and it would do for common courtesy if you would call her that," Mike said curtly.

Olsen whistled sarcastically. "Look at you, all fresh and happening. If you're looking for a challenge, you're in luck. The client is a depressed mute, and the wife is a demanding shrew. You'll certainly have your work cut out for you." Olsen remarked.

Mike shook his head, "Now c'mon, don't talk about Chandler and Monica like that. They're nice people under immense pressure."

"I take it you know the defendant personally, then?" Olsen asked, "Let me guess, your wife's friends? I'm not surprised _she'd _be mixing with that kind of folk," Olsen smirked.

"I'm beginning to see why they fired you," Mike shot back. Olsen shoved a thick manila folder with Chandler's name on it, into Mike's hands.

"See, truth be told, I don't understand why New York's best Defence Attorney would throw out his career like yesterday's garbage. I've always stood in your shadow, Hannigan. I've worked my whole life to match your talent. Why would you walk away from that? Why would anyone?" Olsen asked earnestly.

"Because I found the love of my life, because I found my calling," Hannigan said.


	42. Trial I

**TRIAL I**

"The Court would like to call the defendant's attorney to the stand," the Court Officer announced. Ross and Rachel gasped as a familiar face stepped before the court, dressed in a dark suit and tie, a briefcase in hand.

"MIKE? Mike is Chandler's new lawyer?" they exclaimed in horrified unison. The courtroom burst into excited chatter. Joey glanced frantically around the courtroom trying to understand the instant commotion.

"Silence in the Courtroom," Justice Courtenay announced. The Courtroom fell silent.

5 seconds later than everyone else, comprehension dawned upon Joey's face, and his eyes widened in shock. He grabbed Phoebe's arm, exclaiming, "Pheebs, M-Mike… is… Chandler's lawyer!"

Phoebe cringed. Justice Courtenay glared at Joey warningly. Joey blushed, shrinking in his chair.

"Pheebs, maybe you should go up there and tell Mike you don't want him taking sides," Joey whispered loudly in Phoebe's ear.

"_I_ was the one who asked him to represent Chandler," Phoebe said tensely, through gritted teeth.

"What? Why would you do that? I thought we were gonna give them all equal support, _you're_ the one who told me not to take sides!" Joey exclaimed.

"Sir, I will throw you out of this Courtroom if you do not cease your chatter," Justice Courtenay warned.

"Sorry dude, I mean... uhh Your Honour," Joey muttered, shrinking further into his seat.

"Joey, it's more complicated than that now, okay? Just trust me on this," Phoebe whispered fiercely. Phoebe had but one priority right now. And that was to do everything within her power to ensure Chandler never ever tried to take his life again.

Joey watched his old friend uncertainly, feeling a strange distance between them. Lately she seemed so secretive. He often caught her on the phone in quiet furtive conversations with shady friends from her past. He wondered how much he really knew her at all. How much of _Street Phoebe _lay dormant in her seemingly good heart? He hoped to God she was still a good person.

Mike thought about the night he pressed Phoebe to explain why she was taking sides, insisting that he would refuse to budge on the case till she was honest with him. She had replied pleadingly, her eyes spilling over with desperate tears, "Mike, you know how much I wish I could tell you, but I can't. All I can say is Chan needs me more than any of the others do, so please, just do this _one _thing for him, don't make me beg you."

"Well? Attorney Hannigan, who are you calling to the stand?" Justice Courtenay prompted, breaking Mike out of his private reverie.

Mike cleared his throat. "I'd like to call Mrs Rachel Karen Geller to the stand for cross-examination," he announced.

Rachel stepped onto the podium, feeling that life could not possibly get any stranger. Here she was, in a Court of Law, testifying against one of her best friends, and getting interrogated by the husband of one of her other best friends.

"Mrs Geller, you-"

"Christ, Mike, just call me Rach, it's not like we're strangers," Rachel interrupted, bewildered by her friend's formalities.

"Right, okay Rachel," Mike muttered uncomfortably, "You are the mother of the plaintiff, Emma Geller, is that right?"

"Yes I am."

"As Emma's mother, could you tell me at what age Emma began to form memories?"

"I don't really understand what you mean…" Rachel mumbled.

"What I mean is, babies and toddlers do not have the capacity for memory. Memory is something that one develops in early childhood. Would you agree with that statement, Rachel?"

"Yes, sure," Rachel sighed, knowing full well where this was going.

"Right, well my question to you is this. At approximately what age did Emma begin remembering things, anything. For instance, if you were to promise to take her to Disneyland, at what age do you suppose she would remember this promise and hold you to it?"

"I think she began to remember things shortly after her fourth birthday," Rachel said shortly.

"Could you elaborate? What sort of things would she remember?" Mike pressed.

"Oh, y'know, she'd repeat things she heard on tv, quote lines out of storybooks."

"Did she repeat these lines accurately?"

"Well, no, of course not, a few mistakes here and there. I mean, c'mon, she's just a little girl," Rachel replied, flustered and defensive.

"Ah. Emma Geller makes _mistakes here and there… She's just a little girl… _This is EXACTLY my point. So if you would clarify for the court, Rachel, given Emma's young age of four, is her memory inaccurate?"

"Sometimes," Rachel admitted reluctantly.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, please take note that the plaintiff's mother has just admitted that _sometimes _the plaintiff's memory is inaccurate, that _she's just a little girl, _and therefore occasionally makes _mistakes here and there."_ Mike paused for effect, before adding, "That will be all Rachel, please be seated."

Rachel stepped shakily off the podium feeling disturbed by how cold and distant Mike had been. She felt waves of anger course through her veins. How could Mike do this to them? How could Phoebe agree to this? And God forbid, did Phoebe put Mike up to this? Why were they choosing Chandler over Emma?

Mike felt chilled at the way Rachel had watched him with such bewildered hurt and betrayal in her eyes. The guilt was eating him alive. Why was Phoebe putting him through this? If Phoebe hadn't wept before his very eyes, he would've rejected this case in no uncertain terms. From across the room, Mike saw Phoebe seated in the docks, staring at her feet, her cheeks inflamed with shame.


	43. Scientist Guy

**SCIENTIST GUY**

David stared sullenly at the man outside his door, "What do you want. You here to steal my patented formulas? Stealing my girl wasn't enough for you?"

Mike chuckled uncomfortably, "No, actually, I need your help. I know you still… struggle with your feelings towards Phoebe and I for what happened in Barbados, but I was hoping-"

"I don't have any ill feelings towards Phoebe, it's _you _I have beef with," David snapped.

"Well good, that's a relief, because I have a favour to ask, and I'm hoping, for Phoebe's sake, you'll agree," Mike said pleasantly.

"Is Phoebe in trouble? Is she okay?" David asked, alarmed.

"No, no, it's nothing like that. Phoebe's great," Mike watched David sympathetically, "I take it you still have a soft spot for her?"

David shrugged evasively, "So what if I do? It doesn't mean anything, love is just an irrational chemical reaction, an excessive release of dopamine, norepinephrine, serotonin, oxytocin, vasopressin... it'll fade in time."

Mike peered into David's chaotic flat. It was a mess of textbooks and scientific equipment. Upon the mantelpiece sat two large cages filled with 9 fat albino rats, the males separated from the females. Mike smiled. _Ah, so that's where Phoebe's horrid pet rats went after she gave into my terrified desperate pleas to get rid of them! _

"So can I come in?" Mike asked tentatively.

David sighed, "Fine. But don't let me catch you reading my Minsk research. I'm on the cusp of changing the future of forensic science. Last thing I need is someone snooping through my work before it's ready for the world."

"Wouldn't understand a word of it if I tried," Mike laughed, seating himself on David's couch.

"Oh great, make yourself comfortable," David muttered sarcastically, "So what do you want?"

"You have an excellent reputation in forensic science, from what my colleagues tell me. I know you've worked on a number of class actions in the last few years," Mike probed.

"I'm something of a professional expert witness now. People pay me to study the forensic evidence of a case and testify in court in their favour. It pays well, helps fund my research… Why? Phoebe's not in any legal trouble, is she?" Mike asked anxiously.

"Her friend Chandler is, and she's hellbent on helping him. She's an emotional mess. If I don't help Chandler, she'll be devastated, so I need you to be his expert witness in court," Mike explained.

"Chandler… you mean the funny bastard? I've always been fond of the guy," David lamented, "Of course, if he's in trouble, I'll be his expert witness. Depending on how complicated the forensics of the case are, I charge between-"

"See, the thing is, Pheebs insisted that I run this entire case pro bono," Mike interrupted.

"How you gonna afford that? No offence, but you're an old-folks' pianist, and she's a masseuse. You guys aren't exactly rolling in the dough," David asked with surprise.

Mike took a deep breath, "That's why I'm here, asking you to be Chandler's witness pro bono… Believe me, this isn't easy for me to ask."

David shook his head slightly, "Buddy, I got bills to pay, my research grant is drying up. No way can I do this for free. In fact, no way can _you _do this for free either. Litigation costs a bomb, you'd go bankrupt."

"You're right, funding this case will cost our entire life savings, but we're willing to do that because Chandler and Monica are drowning in legal fees from their previous lawyer, and they'll lose their house if I charge them for my services. They have two small children. Imagine the impact on their kids if they lose the family home."

_"If you can't afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you at the State's expense... _isn't that what goes down in this country, or are my tax dollars going to waste?" David replied brashly.

"I can't let Chandler be represented by a State-appointed attorney. They dole out fresh law graduates. He'd be toast."

David sighed, "Look, I wish Chandler and Monica all the best, I really do, but-"

"David, please. Phoebe really needs this for Chandler. I know you care about her, and this is killing her. So if you won't do this for Chandler or Monica, _do this for Phoebe_," Mike pleaded.

David laughed bitterly, "There's no line you won't cross, huh? You have the audacity to use my love for Phoebe to manipulate me."

Mike watched David sadly, "That's a no, then?"

"A _No_? Christ Mike, it's a yes. I love Phoebe, you know that. At the end of the day, I just want her to be happy," David sighed.


	44. Trial II

**Trial II**

Monica sat facing the court, feeling very small, vulnerable and scared. This was the moment of truth. Her cross examination. Right here, right now, she and she alone had the power to make or break her husband. Her testimony could determine the course of his future. Would he spend the rest of his life wasting away in a 6 by 8, or would he finally, God willing, come home to her?

Prosecutor Gupta regarded Monica closely, "On the 7th of April, you dismissed your husband's defence lawyer and began looking for a new lawyer. Is that correct?"

"Yes," Monica said slowly, unsure of where this was going.

"What is the name of your husband's previous lawyer?"

"Samuel Olsen."

"What is the name of your husband's current lawyer?"

"Michael Hannigan."

"Why did you dismiss Attorney Olsen?" Prosecutor Gupta asked. Monica's heart skipped a beat. It was crystal clear, where this was going.

"Because I was dissatisfied with his services," Monica said, giving nothing away.

"Why were you dissatisfied with Attorney Olsen's services?"

"Because he didn't try hard enough to defend Chandler," Monica said, intentionally vaguely.

"I'll need you to be more specific. In what way did Attorney Olsen fail to defend Chandler to the best of his abilities? What specific incident made you decide to dismiss him?" Prosecutor Gupta pushed. Monica's blood ran cold.

_There's no escaping the truth. Through hell or high water, he's gonna squeeze it out of me._

"Because he wanted Chandler to plead guilty to aggravated assault," Monica admitted.

"And why would Chandler's lawyer want Chandler to plead guilty to anything?" the Prosecutor demanded, knowing full well, the answer.

"It was in exchange for dropping the attempted murder charges," Monica admitted reluctantly.

"Ah I see! Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, take note that Chandler's very own lawyer was beginning to doubt his innocence! The man so feared Chandler would end up with life imprisonment, that he canceled the man's plea of innocence!"

Monica grinded her teeth and dug her finger nails into the palms of her hands. "The Vein", which her friends had so often mocked, was protruding very noticeably from her forehead. Boy, was the tension and anxiety crushing her to smithereens.

"Did Chandler instruct Attorney Olsen to plead guilty to aggravated assault?" the Prosecutor asked.

"Not really, Olsen was the one who suggested it," Monica muttered.

"Granted, Attorney Olsen suggested Chandler plead guilty to aggravated assault, but did Chandler himself, _verbally_ _agree_ with Olsen's suggestion?" Prosecutor Gupta asked.

"Yes," Monica sighed. _Dammit, we're toast._

In the docks, Chandler's parents, both decked out in promiscuous ruby cocktail dresses, watched on in horror. They had no idea their son had ever pleaded guilty to anything! Good God, what were they to make of this news?

"Did you dismiss Attorney Olsen because he insisted on pleading guilty to aggravated assault as per Chandler's instructions?" Prosecutor Gupta clarified.

"Yes I did," Monica croaked, beginning to feel hot tears well up in her eyes. She knew full well how this must look to the jury. Chandler looked guilty as charged.

"Who decided to dismiss Attorney Olsen and change the pleadings to innocence?"

"I did," Monica admitted.

"Did you exert pressure on Chandler to change the pleadings to innocence?"

"No I didn't pressure him."

"So Chandler allowed you to change the pleadings without any disagreement?"

"He didn't exactly agree with me," Monica said vaguely.

"Excuse my confusion, but you said you did not pressure Chandler to change the pleadings, and yet you say he did not agree to change the pleadings. Could you explain this contradiction?"

Monica closed her eyes, a pained expression crossing her face, "I changed the pleadings without asking him."

The prosecutor raised his eyebrows in surprise, "You changed the pleadings _without_ Chandler's permission?"

"Yes, but I wasn't trying to be pushy, I was trying to help… because he's innocent, I know him, I know he wouldn't do something like that…" Monica explained , increasingly flustered.

"You would say that, wouldn't you? Being his wife," the Prosecutor said dryly, adding, "Thank you Mrs Bing, you've told me all that I need to know, please be seated."

"N-no no no, listen, it's not how it looks, he pleaded guilty b-because he was d-depressed, he didn't know w-what he was saying," Monica protested, guilt-ridden tears spilling over her cheeks.

_Oh God, I've done a terrible job defending Chandler, I've made him look even more guilty than he already does! What have I done?_

Justice Courtenay raised one hand in the air, "Ma'am, I understand this is hard for you, but you are speaking out of turn. When it is time for your attorney to present, you may raise issues concerning your husband's state of mind. Now, please return to your seat," the judge said firmly.

Watching Monica trudge back to the docks, shaken and despaired, Prosecutor Gupta turned to the jury with a flourish, "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the defendant's wife has just admitted that on the 7th of April, the defendant verbally agreed to enter a _guilty_plea of aggravated assault. What does this mean? It means that Chandler Bing, a supposedly innocent man, wanted to admit, in a Court of Law, that he _intentionally_knifed a little girl!"

"As for Chandler's current innocent pleadings, Chandler's wife admits that she changed the pleadings _without_his consent! Certainly, most loving wives would, against all evidence to the contrary, believe wholeheartedly in their husband's innocence. But _you,_the jury, must behave with absolute objectivity. Now. There are three things I want you to remember today. Firstly, Chandler's own lawyer had so little faith in the strength of his case that he suggested a guilty plea. Secondly, it is the wife who enforced an innocent plea. Thirdly, the defendant _himself,_pleaded guilty!"


	45. Trial III

**TRIAL III**

Mike Hannigan appraised the heavyset guard slouching in the witness stand. The guard met his gaze sulkily.

"On the 17th of May Chandler Bing came to your office to inform you that he was suffering from bullying at the hands of fellow inmates, is that correct, Mr Diacos?" Mike asked.

"I don't recall," the guard said evasively. The last thing he wanted was to be accused of negligence for failing to follow up on Chandler's complaint of bullying.

"Well perhaps this will jog your memory," Mike said, passing a scruffy booklet to the guard.

Diacos stared in wide-eyed shock at the booklet, "The fuck? How'd you get your hands on that?" he demanded.

Mike laughed airily, "Sir, _I'm _the one who will be asking the questions today. Now-"

"Your honour, how'd he get his hands on our records? Hell, that must be illegal! I never gave him no permission! He can't just swoop in, grabbing our private property!" Diacos interrupted angrily, leaning out of his seat.

Justice Courtenay raised a single palm in the air, "Calm down sir, Attorney Hannigan was issued a subpoena to access any prison documents relevant to the defendant's case. Please don't interrupt him again." Diacos sulkily back into his seat, his face flamed with anger.

"Mr Diacos, could you tell us what this booklet is?" Mike continued.

"A record of prisoner complaints," Diacos grumbled reluctantly.

"And why do you keep a record of prisoner complaints?" Mike prodded.

"Prison protocol. Prevents lawsuits. Serious complaints are followed up. Y'know, covering our asses," Diacos said gruffly.

"Now if you could read the entry dated 17th May, please," Mike prompted.

"Prisoner Chandler Muriel Bing complained about bullying from inmates. Refuses to disclose nature of the bullying. No visible injuries present. Will keep an eye on the matter," Diacos read flatly.

"Now, if you could read the side note to this entry, dated 1st June," Mike pressed. Diacos groaned in frustration.

"Urgent attention & immediate intervention required, regarding Chandler Bing's complaint. His cellmates, Eric Dunn and Lucas Kercher were found severely beaten up in front of their cell on the 1st of June 2 weeks after Chandler Bing's complaint. Like Chandler, both Eric and Lucas have refused to disclose the identity of their assailants," Diacos read out reluctantly.

"So according to this note, you acknowledge that Chandler was suffering from extreme bullying amounting to severe physical assault at the hands of fellow inmates. Is that correct?" Mike asked.

"Yes," Diacos muttered, "But hell, he was wearing a full-bodied jumpsuit. It's not like I could see his injuries. I would've done something about it sooner if I knew it was _that_ serious."

"I understand. Remember, we're not here today to accuse you or any prison staff of negligence, so there's no need to defend yourself," Mike clarified.

"Right, fine," Diacos muttered.

"Now, you are of the belief that the inmates that attacked Eric and Lucas are the same assailants that attacked Chandler. Is that correct?" Mike asked.

"Well obviously. I mean, they're all cellmates, after all. And Chandler, Eric and Lucas all refused to name the attackers, like they're scared of the same prisoners, or something. Plus, the attacks happened two weeks apart, which is pretty darn close together," Diacos explained.

"Thank you Mr Diacos, that will be all. Please be seated," Mike said. Diacos slunk back to his seat.

"If it may please the court, I would like to call Aaron Simmons to the witness stand," Mike announced. Aaron took a seat before the court.

"You were the guard on night duty on the 11th of May. Is that correct?" Mike asked.

"Yes sir," Aaron affirmed.

"Could you describe the events of that night," Mike asked.

"Well, I was on night duty, minding my own business, when suddenly I heard a hysterical scream. When I ran towards the noise, I saw Bing lying in his cell screaming and crying like all hell's broke loose," Aaron said.

"What happened next?" Mike prompted.

"I did what all decent guards would do. I told him to get some sleep, and that I'd get him a prison psych consult in the morning. Because hell, the guy was obviously suffering from PTSD. That kinda fuss only ever comes from serious bullying from other inmates," Aaron appraised.

"So, when you heard and saw Chandler crying and screaming, it was apparent to you that he was showing signs of Post-Traumatic Stress from a pattern of bullying from his fellow inmates. Is that correct?" Mike clarified.

"Yes sir," Aaron confirmed.

"Did you notice any changes in Chandler's behavior following that night?" Mike asked.

"The poor bugger's been depressed and mute ever since that night. When I was guarding the visitor's room, I saw his lawyer talking to him, but I never saw him say a word to the man. Bing was just sitting there with a vacant look in his eyes. He clearly wasn't talking or paying any attention to what the lawyer was saying," Aaron explained.

"I see. Now for the big ticket question, Mr Simmons. Did you at any point, during Chandler's session with his lawyer, hear the lawyer ask Chandler if he did in fact stab Emma Geller?" Mike said slowly, emphasizing each word.

"Yes sir. The lawyer asked him if he stabbed the girl."

"And what did Chandler reply?" Mike prompted.

"He didn't say anything, just bowed his head down and cried."

"And what did the lawyer say?" Mike asked.

"He said something along the lines of '_Oh you really did do it, didn't you_.'"

"So Chandler never once verbally stated that he stabbed Emma Geller, did he?" Mike clarified.

"No sir. The lawyer obviously jumped to conclusions, thinking Chandler was crying cuz he's guilty of hurting the kid," Aaron explained.

"I see, the lawyer was jumping to conclusions. Chandler never confessed his guilt, the lawyer simply assumed Chandler's tears were a silent admission of guilt. But we know the _truth _behind Chandler's tears. It was due to misery and terror at the continuous and horrendous bullying he and his cellmates faced from other prisoners! When I present to you evidence of the horrific injuries Chandler's cellmates suffered at the hands of their assailants, you will understand why Chandler was in such a depressed and anxious frame of mind, that he was rendered completely uncommunicative, leading to the tragic mistake of entering a guilty plea for this innocent man," Mike stated.

Sitting in the docks, Phoebe found it highly ironic that the men who were beaten upon _her_ request, had been mistaken by Mike as co-victims of an unidentifiable attacker. Phoebe told herself that Mike would _never_ find out the truth. He didn't need to know what she was capable of when it came to protecting her friends. Because if he knew, only heaven knows whether he'd be understanding, or he'd drop his wedding ring into the palm of her hand and take off into the night. Regardless of the truth, one thing was for certain...

Mike was kicking ass and taking names.


	46. Confession

**CONFESSION**

Mike Hannigan sat before Chandler, his documents spread out over the table. Pressing the prison phone up to his ear, he announced brightly, "I've got awesome news, Chandler."

"Well go on then, don't hold out on me," Chandler joked.

"You, Lucas and Eric told me that you don't know the identities of your attackers. Lucas and Eric said they didn't get a proper view of the attackers' faces when they were getting beat up. Did you catch a glimpse of their faces?" Mike asked.

"No, I didn't," Chandler lied.

"And you have no idea who they are, or what their names are?" Mike asked.

"That's right," Chandler lied again, guilt sitting uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. He hated lying to Mike, but what choice did he have?

"I've spoken to your prison warden, actually… threatened him with a negligence lawsuit, is the more accurate phraseology," Mike laughed, "And he's agreed to open an official investigation into who attacked your cellmates," Mike beamed.

Chandler's face turned instantly pale, "Mike, you've got to shut this down!"

"What? Don't you want an investigation?" Mike said, startled by Chandler's strange reaction.

"I don't. You need to call the warden, right now and tell him to drop the investigation," Chandler ordered.

"But if we know who attacked your cellmates, they'll be shifted to a separate facility, so they can't hurt you. As your lawyer and your friend, the last thing I want, is for you to be beaten half-dead, like your cellmates!"

Chandler searched desperately for an excuse, "Look, we can't afford an investigation, okay? We're dead broke."

Mike sighed with relief, "Oh, so that's what you're worried about! Don't sweat it, this is completely covered by taxpayer funds. It's the government's duty to protect the safety of all State prisoners."

"You're not listening to me. I don't want an investigation!"

"Calm down," Mike said anxiously, "Just tell me what's going on, are you feeling okay? Have you been feeling depressed lately?" Mike wondered if a renewed mental-breakdown was the source of Chandler's irrationality.

"Oh My God," Chandler mouthed to himself. Why wouldn't Mike let up?

"You said your fear of the men who bashed your cellmates is the reason for your suicide attempt! Why don't you want to determine their identities? What am I missing here?" Mike demanded.

Life's a funny thing. Mike was hunting down his own wife, and he didn't even know it! There was no escaping now. Chandler had to tell Mike the truth, before Mike went in, legal guns blazing, and accidentally landed Phoebe into prison. Taking a deep, calming breath, Chandler glanced furtively around the visitors hall, ensuring nobody was eavesdropping.

"If we don't stop the investigation, Phoebe will go to prison," Chandler whispered.

"WHAT?" Mike exclaimed, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Keep your voice down!" Chandler whispered loudly.

"What has Pheebs got to do with any of this? You're insane!" Mike laughed, incredulous.

"My cellmates raped me," Chandler blurted out. Mike stared at Chandler blankly. A long silent pause ensued.

"What? Your cellmates? Raped you? What are you talking about? Look, I don't understand, you're not making any sense, I-"

"Just shut up for a moment, and listen to me, okay?" Chandler interrupted. Mike nodded.

"Okay," Chandler sighed, "Long story short, my cellmates raped me, and I confided in Phoebe. She wanted to contact the police, but I was too humiliated to testify against them because it meant revealing the nature of my attack. Phoebe wanted to punish them for what they did to me, so she called in a favour from one of her friends who's serving time, and he beat them up on my behalf."

Mike's face went instantly pale. He stared mute and dumbfounded at Chandler. His hands visibly began to quiver. His eyes were wide like saucer plates, "Phoebe..._ ordered_ the attack?" he whispered.

Chandler nodded, "Yes, and when it came to trying to explain my depression and false guilty plea, you came to the conclusion that I was scared of getting attacked by the men who beat my cellmates up. When you put that theory to me, I lied that it's true… because I couldn't afford to have the truth come out, I mean, God knows how long Pheebs would be put away," Chandler whispered.

"Aggravated assault, 6 years per victim. 12 years in total," Mike whispered hoarsely, blinking back tears. _Don't you dare cry, you idiot! Not in front of a client! Never in front of a client! _Mike mentally scolded himself.

Chandler locked eyes with Mike, "Mike, I know this is a lot to take in, but I need you to know that I am eternally grateful for what Pheebs did. She gave me justice, she brought me back to life. I was lost in a bottomless pit of depression, and Phoebe wholly and completely empowered me."

Mike remained mute, staring straight ahead. His watery blue eyes had taken on a glazed look. The long silence was making Chandler extremely uncomfortable, so he continued talking, "Mike, after Pheebs helped me, for the first time since Emma's accident, I felt ready and willing to fight the charges. I was drowning in self-pity, and Pheebs saved me."

"I can't believe this is happening, God I can't believe this," Mike whispered, his tears spilling over.

"I know what Pheebs did was technically against the law, but it wasn't wrong, it wasn't immoral, the way my cellmates hurt me, I cannot begin to describe. They deserved-"

Mike put one palm of his hand up, "I think I've heard enough today, don't you?" he whispered distantly. Mike stood shakily up on his feet, shoving his documents into his briefcase with nervous hands.

"Where are you going? Shouldn't we discuss this?" Chandler asked, alarmed.

Mike shook his head slightly, "If you'll excuse me." Picking up his briefcase, he walked away without another word.


	47. Trial IV

**TRIAL IV**

It was 2 am. Tomorrow's trial started at 7 am. Mike had exactly 5 hours to figure out his next move. He crumpled another piece of paper into a tight little ball, and hurled it angrily across the room. What was Phoebe thinking? To beat the shit out of those pricks; and not even tell him?

Phoebe knocked gently on the door, "Mike, I've got a cup of tea," she offered guiltily.

"I don't need tea, I need help. I need somebody to tell me what fuck to say in court tomorrow, because, by lying to me, you and Chandler have left me high and fucking dry!" Mike snapped angrily.

"I'm sorry, I should've told you, I shouldn't have lied, I know I messed up… But I'm not sorry for what I did," Phoebe said honestly.

"Those were the actions of someone wild, impulsive, reckless, feisty, bloody insane! All the things I love and hate about you!" Mike yelled in frustration.

"I know... I hope you figure it out, Mike. I wish there was something I could fix my mistake. For what it's worth, I really am sorry," Phoebe whispered. She placed the tea on Mike's desk, kissed the top of his head, and left him to his own devices.

* * *

"You were the physician that treated Chandler's cellmates Eric Dunn and Lucas Kercher, is that correct?" Mike asked Dr Richard Burke.

"Yes that is correct," Richard confirmed.

"Could you tell the Court the full extent of Eric Dunn's injuries?"

"The bones in Eric's left hand were shattered, his left arm was dislocated at the shoulder, three of his ribs were broken, one of which punctured his right lung," Richard explained.

"Were these injuries life-threatening?"

"Absolutely. Ten more minutes, and Eric's lungs would've filled with blood,drowning him," Richard stated.

"And what about Lucas, what injuries did he suffer?"

"Lucas had a fractured skull, haemorrhaging of his brain, his nose and jaw were broken, and he had a slipped spinal disk."

"Were these injuries life-threatening?" Mike probed.

"Yes, if he hadn't undergone immediate brain surgery, he would've harmorrhaged to death," Richard stated.

"On a scale of one to ten, in your opinion, how severe were the injuries of Chandler's cellmates, in light of what you've witnessed throughout your time as a prison doctor?" Mike asked.

"Oooh a Ten, absolutely. It was horrific, never seen such violence in my entire five years working at this prison," Richard emphasised.

"When Eric and Lucas were first brought into the prison hospital for treatment, what did the warden say to you?" Mike questioned.

"He said that Chandler Bing notified the warden about an attack on his cellmates," Richard replied.

"So Chandler was the first to witness the full extent of his cellmates' horrific injuries. Is that correct?" Mike asked.

"Yes it is," Richard affirmed.

Mike turned to the audience, "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, please take a moment to place yourself in Chandler's shoes. Imagine you have just found your friends bleeding on the floor, left for dead, with a shattered skull, punctured lungs and broken spine. Now imagine the abject terror you'd feel knowing that _you _were next in line for a similar near-fatal beating!"

Mike paused for effect, "The Prosecution kicks a fuss because Chandler didn't protest to a guilty plea. But let me ask you this. Wouldn't _you _be preoccupied and absent-minded too, if faced with the prospect of having your skull smashed in and your bones snapped like twigs? Alright, that is all Dr Burke, please be seated."

"Would you like to call anyone else to the stand, Attorney Hannigan?" Justice Courtenay asked.

"Yes, I'd like to call Lucas Kercher to the stand. Eric Dunn is currently too ill to attend Court, but Kercher's testimony will suffice," Mike said.

Lucas took to the stand in a wheelchair, wearing a neck brace, and sporting a black eye.

"In the months leading up to Chandler's guilty plea, did you, as his roommate, notice his state of mind?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, he was depressed," Lucas said flatly. What was he gonna do? Deny the glaringly obvious and come across as a liar?

"Did he tell you why he was depressed?"

"He said he was scared of the prisoners that were bullying me, him and Eric," Lucas lied flatly. What was he gonna do? Admit that Chandler was depressed because he raped him?

_Fuck. I'm backed into the corner to defend Bing! The bastard's probably gonna get released from prison thanks to me! What a joke! _Lucas thought bitterly to himself.

"Did Chandler tell you what he feared from your attackers?" Mike probed.

"Y'know, that he was gonna get beat up bad, like me and Eric was," Lucas sighed.

"So Lucas, to reiterate. In the weeks leading up to the entering of his guilty plea, Chandler showed signs of depression and anxiety, and he confided in you, that he feared that he would get physically attacked by other prisoners. Is that correct?"

"Yeah, that about sums it up," Lucas muttered morosely.

"Alright Lucas, please be seated. I have no further questions," Mike said. He had put on a wonderfully persuasive and convincing performance.

Justice Courtenay frowned at Mike, "Attorney Hannigan, you look extremely pale. Are you alright?"

"Your Honour, I may need a break, I'm feeling quite unwell," Mike said weakly.

"Christ, you look it... Alright, I'm calling a 5 minute recess!" Justice Courtenay announced.

Mike rushed out of the courtroom. The jury watched him, perplexed. They were used to him being cool, calm and collected. Who was this nervous, flighty person? Running to the bathroom, Mike collapsed onto his knees, and threw up into the toilet bowl. He had just committed the Crime of Perjury. There was no turning back now.


	48. Trial V

**TRIAL V**

"I would like to call on David Shaw to present his professional findings, as a forensic scientist, on the evidence of Emma Geller's accident," Mike Hannigan announced.

When Rachel saw _David the Scientist Guy _take the stand, she muttered bitterly to Ross, "God. It's like Phoebe's entire love life is marching into Court to defend Chandler. Does anyone even believe in us anymore?" She felt extremely hurt Phoebe had chosen Chandler over her, Ross and Emma.

David took to the podium, his briefcase full of photographs and reports. "Mr Shaw, you may begin your testimony," Mike prompted.

David pushed his heavy spectacles up his nose, and began speaking, "To tell you all the truth, I spent countless hours poring through the evidence, and most of it was inconclusive. Firstly, evidence on DNA was irrelevant because obviously Chandler's fingerprints are present on the offending knife, given that he used it to cut a pumpkin to feed his children. Secondly, the nature of Emma's wound suggests a level of force caused it. But I cannot determine whether the force was caused by a man intentionally stabbing her, or if it was caused by the force of gravity from falling into the knife."

David pulled out a photograph, setting it on the overhead projector, "However, despite the inconclusiveness of all evidence investigated, there was _one_ single piece of evidence leading to my professional opinion that it is unlikely Chandler stabbed Emma."

The Court leaned forwards; hanging onto David's every word.

"I warn you, these images are graphic," David said, flicking the projector light on. The Court gasped in shock, at the disturbing image before them.

Ross and Rachel turned away, aching deeply at the sight of the photo. It brought back a rush of painful emotions from the darkest era of their lives… a time when, for months on end, they feared their tiny daughter might not make it out of her ordeal alive.

It was a Crime Scene photo of a single bloodied Barbie doll lying in an open dishwasher; a large burgundy pool of blood spreading across the dishwasher, and dripping steadily onto the kitchen floor.

David pointed at the photo, "You see the distribution of the blood? The pool begins inside the open dishwasher, and spills onto the kitchen floor. What does this mean? It means that the source of the bleeding occurred _inside_ the dishwasher, which means Emma was in the dishwasher at the time the knife impaled her."

Mike smiled gratefully at David. He had found a golden ticket… a gemstone piece of evidence. "That will be all, Mr Shaw, please be seated."

Mike spoke, "The Prosecutor contends that Chandler stabbed Emma in a fit of rage. We have just established from this photograph, that Emma was inside the dishwasher at the time of the accident. Consider the absurdity of the Prosecutor's theory, in light of this piece of evidence. Does it sound plausible to you that Emma was standing _inside _a dishwasher at the time Chandler lashed out at her?

"How many of you have ever left a used knife pointing upwards in a dishwasher? Please raise your hands." A myriad of people began raising their hands. Mike nodded thoughtfully, "Look around you, ladies and gentlemen, and you'll see that over half of you have done this before. Now let me put forth a theory of what happened on the day of the accident, and you can decide for yourself which scenario is more plausible: The Prosecutor's or mine."

Mike pointed at the image of the Barbie doll. "See this here? I put to you that after Chandler cut up some pumpkin to feed his children, he placed the used knife pointing upwards in the dishwasher, as half of you in this Court have done before; and went to take a shower. Meanwhile, Emma wandered into the kitchen, accidentally dropped her doll into the open dishwasher. She leaned over, reaching for her doll, slipped and fell into the knife."

Mike turned to the Court, "Which scenario sounds more plausible? Scenario A: when Chandler attacked Emma, she happened to be standing in the dishwasher, because hey, that's what kids do these days. They hang out in dishwashers," Mike said sarcastically.

"Or Scenario B: Emma's accident was caused by an honest mistake, so common, that over half of you sitting in Court today, have made that same mistake before. So, Scenario A or B? Your choice. Just please, employ some common sense as you come to your decision."

Mike removed the photograph, and slipped another picture underneath the projector. The Court burst into immediate, loud, excited and confused chatter. Joey, glanced around the Court, failing to understand the commotion.

Justice Courtenay slammed his mallet on the podium, "Silence in the Court!"

Mike cleared his throat, "Ladies and gentlemen, you are looking at a crayon drawing by Emma, of Chandler stabbing her to death with a knife."

Monica stared at the drawing in abject horror, "What the fuck is Mike doing?" she whispered.


	49. Trial VI

**TRIAL VI**

The drawing Mike displayed on the Courtroom overhead projector stood out like a screaming admission of guilt. It was a crayon drawing by Emma, portraying a giant and imposing Chandler, with crazed devil eyes, and a silver blade in hand, stabbing Emma to death. Emma had scribbled dramatic red streaks all over the page, signalling a violent spray of blood. She had drawn her mouth in a wide "O", depicting a scream, and bright blue tears shooting out of her eyes.

Horrified, Monica ran to the front of the court, dragging Mike to the side, "What the hell are you doing, why would you show such a horrid picture? Are you trying to send Chandler to prison? Have you forgotten which team you're batting for?" she whispered urgently.

"Is there a problem, Attorney Hannigan?" Justice Courtenay interrupted.

Mike shook his head, "No, Your Honour."

"Then please, control your client," Justice Courtenay snapped.

"Look, Mon, I know what I'm doing, just trust me, okay?" Mike reassured.

Monica stared in pain at the nauseating drawing of her husband murdering her niece, "You must be insane! I can't, for the life of me, see why _this _would help our case!" Monica whispered loudly.

Mike grasped Monica by the shoulders, staring seriously into her eyes, "Monica, I mean it, you need to trust me," he said seriously and emphatically.

* * *

_Flashback: 20 Hours Ago…_

Emma sat on her bed, clapping her Barbie doll against her Ken doll, in a kissing motion, "I love youuu Miss Barbie, I wanna marry you! Here's a diamond ring that costs a gazillion dollars!" she announced.

Carol Willick sat at Emma's desk, giggling quietly at the little girl's make-believe game. Ross and Rachel were both busy at work, Ben was at school, so Carol was babysitting Emma for the afternoon. Carol perused listlessly, through a collection of crayon drawings on Emma's desk.

There were about fifty different drawings. Some were generically sweet and innocent; depicting rainbows, butterflies, houses, fairies, and zoo animals. Others were of people near and dear to the little girl's heart. Cuddling up to her parents, playing in the park with Jack, Erica and Ben, listening to Aunt Pheebs sing, watching Dr Ramoray re-runs with Uncle Joey…

And then there were pictures of a more sinister tone. Little Emma lying in hospital, getting sliced open by a circle of surgeons, drawings of doctors, lawyers, nurses, police officers… and finally, there were inevitably, pictures featuring Chandler. Carol ran her index over the frightening image. A demonic Chandler viciously stabbing a hysterical little girl over and over… Blood splashing left, right and centre. The drawing was chilling. Carol felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end…

"Will you love me forever and ever and ever? I will Miss Barbie, you are my pretty wife! You promise? Yes! _I never lie!_" Emma squealed suddenly. Carol jumped up from her chair, startled by Emma's outburst.

Emma looked at Carol quizzically, "Are you okay, Aunty Carol? You look scared," she asked, confused.

Carol nodded silently, feeling a growing lump in her throat. She turned back to the picture, feeling as though something was very amiss. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. She examined the disturbing drawing closely. It featured a row of Boxes, working like a comic strip. Each box depicted Chandler stabbing Emma _repeatedly, over and over, again and again._

Carol suddenly broke out in cold sweat. Hurrying over to Emma, she dropped to her knees, and grasped the little girl by the shoulders, "Emma, look at me."

Emma frowned at Carol, confused, "Aunty Carol, what's wrong?"

"Emma, why have you drawn so many pictures of Uncle Chan stabbing you?" Carol asked nervously, showing Emma the chilling drawing.

"Because he stabbed me many times, ten times. See?" Emma explained, pointing at her drawing.

Horrified, Carol collapsed onto the floor, pressing the palm of her hand against her forehead.

"Oh God, Em, you've sent an innocent man to prison," Carol whispered quietly.

Emma shook Carol's arm gently, "Aunty, what do you mean? Are you okay?" she asked, scared at the sight of Carol's pale and clammy face.

Carol stood up suddenly, grasping her mobile phone and dialling with shaky hands. The adrenaline was shooting out of her; she could hardly stay upright on her feet.

Mike picked up the phone, "Hello?"

"Mike, Chandler's innocent," she said breathlessly.

* * *

Mike stared out at the sea of faces, "Now, I will prove to you beyond all reasonable doubt, that Emma's testimony on how she received her injury is _false_."

Justice Courtenay raised his eyebrows, "That's a big call to make, Councillor," he muttered.

Ignoring the Judge's comment, Mike turned to Rachel, "Mrs Geller, could you please read page one of Emma's Medical Report?"

"Emma Geller admitted at 3:15 pm on the 7th of January, with a single stab wound to the abdomen."

"Thank you Rachel, you may be seated. Emma had only _one single _stab wound, and yet her drawing depicts Chandler stabbing her _multiple _times," Mike announced.

Mike turned to Carol, seated nervously in the witness box. "Ms Willick, would you repeat for the Court, what Emma told you when you asked her about her drawing?"

"She said Chandler stabbed her ten times," Carol said shakily.

And in that very moment, it was as though time stood still. In utter shock, the entire Courtroom turned to stare at the tiny girl seated in the docks. Little Emma shrunk back against the stares, burying her face in Rachel's shirt.


	50. Judgment Day

**JUDGEMENT DAY**

Sitting in the docks in a fluorescent orange jumpsuit, handcuffed to the table, Chandler felt dizzy and lightheaded. This was it. The be all and end all. Whatever the outcome, it would be set in stone for the rest of Chandler's life. The Courtroom took a collective breath of anticipation, as the jury announced the verdict.

"On the First Count of Attempted Murder, we find the Defendant, Chandler Muriel Bing, _Not Guilty_. On the Second Count of Aggravated Assault, we find the Defendant, Chandler Muriel Bing, _Not Guilty_."

Justice Courtenay nodded respectfully at Chandler, "Congratulations, Chandler Muriel Bing, you're free to go. I wish you all the best for the future. Court adjourned."

And just like that, Chandler was a free man.

* * *

In a large empty Courtroom, Phoebe and Joey sat silently, side by side.

Joey turned to Phoebe, "I'm moving to L.A," he blurted out.

Phoebe watched Joey sadly. Frankly, she wasn't surprised. She too, felt a desperate urge to abscond Manhattan, what with with all the emotional turmoil she and the rest of the gang had experienced in this city, over the last 12 months. Phoebe slipped her hand into Joey's, squeezing tightly.

"You're not gonna fight me on this?" Joey asked, hurt and confused.

"12 months ago I would have, but I ever since we almost lost Emma to liver failure, and Chandler to suicide, I just think life's too short. You've been talking about L.A forever, Joey, now's the time to make it happen," Phoebe encouraged.

"You really think so?" Joey asked anxiously.

"You bet. You're gonna make it as a movie star someday, and when you do, you're gonna buy a hand-shaped house in Hollywood, and I'm gonna move into the thumb. Just like you promised," Phoebe teased gently.

"Do you think Chan's gonna be okay without me?" he asked guiltily.

Phoebe kissed Joey's cheek, "He's gonna be okay... No, scratch that, he's gonna be awesome. I can feel it in my bones."

Suddenly without warning, Joey dropped his face into his hands, breaking down into tears. His childlike sobs echoed against the bare mahogany walls. Phoebe drew the muscular burly man into her arms, stroking his hair tenderly.

A cleaner walked into the deserted Courtroom, dragging a bucket and mop behind him, "Ummm… Is your friend okay? He's real emotional, huh?" the cleaner asked awkwardly.

Phoebe smiled wanly, "He's Italian."

* * *

Mike lined the tequila shots in a tidy row. "Who would've thought we'd ever be sitting at a pub, having a drink together. To think that just months ago we were practically enemies," Mike mused.

"We share a common bond, we both love the same woman," David said pensively.

Shaking the heart-wrenching longing out of his head, David lifted a shot of tequila into the air, "_To Chandler and Monica_."

"I'll drink to that," Mike said, knocking back the shot.

David stood up suddenly. "Where are you going?" Mike asked, perplexed.

From across the bar, a woman with frizzy brown hair and a skin-tight leopard jumpsuit smiled flirtatiously at David. Recognising the woman, Mike almost choked on his drink. Three words. _Oh. My. God._

"As much as I love her, I think it's time to move on, for her sake and mine. Good luck to you, Mike," David said sincerely, walking away towards the new woman of his life. Unbeknownst to him, years from now, she would become the future Mrs Shaw. Well, Mrs Litman Goralnik née Hosenstein Shaw, to be precise.

* * *

Ross got down on his knees, pulling his small daughter into a tight hug. He held her by the shoulders, looking into her anxious watery eyes, "Hey, no need to cry honey, you're gonna be okay. Mum and I love you," he reassured softly.

Planting a kiss on the little girl's head, he turned to his mother, "Mum, could you take her home? I desperately need to talk to my best friend."

"Absolutely," Judy nodded, lifting the exhausted little girl into her arms.

"I'll need to book an appointment with a child psychologist, it could be that Em has PTSD. All I know is, she can't go on believing Chandler's a monster," Ross sighed forlornly.

The verdict confused Emma, as did her parents. At five, she could not wrap her head around the complexities of adults. She thought evil Uncle Chan was going to be put away forever, but instead the Judge had wished him well, and sent him on his way. Why had Aunty Carol testified in Uncle Chan's favour? And why oh why, did her father refer to Uncle Chan as his "best friend"? What had changed in the last few days? Was it something she did? Was it something she said?

"Daddy, did I do something wrong?" she asked in a small voice.

Ross took his daughters face between his hands, resting his forehead against hers, "No sweetheart, I'm the one who did wrong. I didn't believe in my best friend, I let him down," he whispered.

"Daddy, why did they let Uncle Chan go?" Emma asked shakily.

Ross tucked a lock of blonde hair behind Emma's ear, "I know you're scared sweetheart, but in time you'll understand. That's a promise," Ross said gently, offering Emma his pinky finger.

* * *

When Phoebe got home, she wandered around her apartment in a daze. Her flat had been completely stripped bare of all of Mike's belongings. Everything that defined her husband had disappeared. His electronic keyboard, his sheet music, his piano books, his music CDs, his criminal procedure legislation, his suits, his ties, his briefcase, all of it was gone. Phoebe's heart felt as empty as her apartment. Shell-shocked and devastated, she collapsed onto the couch, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Oh God, he's left me," she whispered.

Her biggest nightmare had come true. He hadn't forgiven her for her indiscretions. She didn't blame him. After all, she had almost killed two people, lied to him, and forced him to commit the crime of perjury in a Court of Law to protect her. As she ached over the loss of the love of her life, she spotted an envelop sitting on the coffee table. Her face blanched and her breathing quickened. What was this? A breakup letter? Or worse, divorce papers? Phoebe opened the envelope with trembling hands. A note and set of keys fell out of the envelope. Taking a shuddering breath, Phoebe unfolded the note.

"_These are the keys to our new caravan home; I've already moved my things in. Sell your apartment, because we're going to travel the world, jamming together; you on the guitar, me on the piano. We'll start with 'Smelly Cat' and work our way through to 'Little Black Curly Hair'. Let's escape Manhattan and grow old on the road together. Just two musicians trying to make it. What do you say? – Mike"_

Stunned beyond words, Phoebe ran to the window. On the street below, she saw the love of her life standing beside a caravan, smiling up at her.

"Get down here, Mrs Hannigan, we have a life to begin," he called out to her.

* * *

Chandler leaned against the prison gate, his back facing the boisterous crowd of reporters and curious strangers.

"Aren't you gonna get out of here?" the prison guard asked, perplexed.

"Got a cigarette?" Chandler asked quietly.

The prison guard pointed at the prison gate, "You realise you're just one step away from freedom, don't you?"

Chandler sighed, "I know, but I just need a moment."

The guard nodded, lighting Chandler up. With closed eyes Chandler turned his face to the sky, taking a long deep drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke trail luxuriously out of his mouth. From the thick of the crowd, two long lost friends pushed their way to the front of the prison. Chandler appraised them silently, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Chandler, we're so sorry about everything," Rachel whispered guiltily.

Although there was nothing but an iron gate separating Chandler from Ross and Rachel, emotionally, it felt as though they were now oceans apart. He hadn't spoken to them in over a year, and they had almost imprisoned him for life. The uncomfortable distance between them was excruciating.

"Chandler, talk to us, we're your best friends," Ross pleaded gently.

"Are we? Somehow that all feels so long ago now," Chandler replied softly, taking another deep inhalation of his cigarette. Somehow, the words _best friends _sounded stiff and unnatural coming out of Ross's mouth.

"We didn't have the benefit of hindsight," Rachel explained earnestly.

Chandler nodded, "I know, but that doesn't mean I can flick our friendship off and on like a light-switch," he said flatly.

"Where do we go from here?" Ross asked gently.

"I wish I knew," Chandler said sadly, dropping his cigarette butt to the floor, and putting it out with his heel.

Chandler nodded at the prison guard, "I'm ready."

The guard opened the gate, and Chandler stepped out onto the pavement. Taking his first steps as a free man, he brushed past Ross and Rachel, without another word. Time stood still as Chandler walked quietly away from his former best friends. A swarm of reporters swallowed him whole, shoving a multitude of microphones in his face.

"_How does it feel to be a free man?"_

"_Why do you think Emma got so confused?"_

"_How did you cope in the face of all those false accusations?"_

"_Did your family stay by your side throughout this ordeal?"_

"_Were there times during the trial that you lost hope?"_

_"Is it true that you were suicidal at one point?"_

_"How did you get Hannigan, NYC's greatest Defence Lawyer to defend you?"_

Chandler ignored the bombardment of questions raining down upon him… All, except for the last one.

"_Will you ever be friends with Ross and Rachel Geller again?"_

Chandler looked straight into the camera, "Yes, in time I will."

In his minds eye, Chandler could see that the gang of six would one day reunite. But it wouldn't happen overnight, it would take time. Lots of time. Years, in fact. But he was willing to put in the hard yards, and he was sure Ross and Rachel were too. One day he would be friends with them again, just... not today.

Caught in the mass of people, Chandler scanned the crowd for the one person he yearned to see most. Against all odds, he spotted her. Small, pale, thin, fragile, standing at the back of the crowd, waiting for him. She locked eyes with him, and in an instant, it was as though the rest of the world fell away. Gone was the chaos, the crowd, the reporters, the noise, the cameras, the commotion. At that very moment, there was only husband and wife, facing each other on an empty street.

Chandler stepped towards Monica. "The kids are with mum and dad. I wanted some time alone with-"

Chandler placed a single finger over Monica's lips, silencing her. She stared up at him with watery blue eyes. He gently wiped a stray tear from her face. Drawing her into his arms, he combed his fingers through her long raven hair. Her tense rigid frame slowly relaxed, as she melted into him. Closing her eyes, she buried her face in the nape of his neck. It had been so long since she had felt his touch. Three hundred and sixty-five days, to be exact. Chandler slipped his hand under Monica's chin, gently tilting her face upwards. The boisterous crowd of news reporters leaned forwards, their cameras poised in anticipation.

Finally, Chandler pressed his lips gently against Monica's. In an instant, a flurry of camera flashlights simultaneously went off, immortalising Chandler and Monica's private moment forever.

**THE END**


	51. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

**2011 (5 years post-trial)**

"_Dear Uncle Chan, I'm so sorry for what I did, I wish I never hurt you because what I said was not true, and I'm so sad that because of me you went to jail. I remembered when you played with me, and tell many really funny jokes. I miss you."_

Chandler stared intently at the card, reading the message over and over. It was time. For Monica's sake, it was time.

"Hello?" Chandler said shakily. He hadn't dialed that number in five years. Was he making a mistake?

Ross's heart tightened in his chest, he recognized that voice.

"Chandler," he whispered. The sound of Ross's voice made Chandler's heart ache with nostalgia.

"I'm ready to give this friendship a second go, if you'll have me… I know it's been five years too late, but-"

"It's never too late," Ross interjected softly.

"Well, how about tomorrow noon at Central Perk?" Chandler asked, naming the first place that popped into his head. He hadn't stepped into that coffee shop in years.

"I miss that place," Ross chuckled, "Rach and I will be there."

"What about Emma?"

Ross's breath caught in his throat, "You'd like to see her?"

Chandler took a deep breath, "Yes, I think eventually I have to let go of my demons. I think if I try, I could be her Godfather again."

**Christmas Eve 2016 (10 years post-trial)**

Here they were, at the much anticipated, _The Phalanges _concert. It was Christmas eve at Madison Square Gardens. Joey, Ross, Rachel, Chandler, Monica and 15 year old Emma stood in the mosh pit, absolutely mesmerized by the size of the crowd around them. There were close to 40,000 eccentric hipster Indie kids wearing Santa Hats, pushing and shoving each other, fighting for the best view possible.

As Phoebe and Mike took to the stage, the entire stadium erupted into hysterical screams, and discordant chants of "Regina Phalange, Regina Phalange! Crap Bag, Crap Bag, Crap Bag! Banana Hammock, Banana Hammock! Princess Consuela, Princess Consuela!"

"Hey you little Phalanges! Love you all for showing up at the biggest _The Phalanges _concert in history! I mean, Madison Square Gardens on Christmas Eve? C'mon! Tonight, it's all about smelly cats, sour milk, curly pubes and sticky shoes!" Phoebe pointed at Mike, cuing him in.

Mike ran his fingers dramatically up and down his keyboard, "Everybody, get your Phalanges out!"

To the gang's bewilderment, 40,000 Indie kids simultaneously pulled out colourful glow sticks. Soon the entire stadium lit up with the colourful sway of dancing "Phalanges".

"Oh my god. It's like I've stepped into a bad acid trip starring Phoebe," Chandler shouted over the crowd's excited screams.

"This one goes out to my five beautiful babies, you know who you are! Sing along if you know the lyrics!" Phoebe cried out.

Mike began dancing patterns on his keyboard. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, Phoebe strummed energetically on her guitar, singing loudly into the mike.

"Went to the store, sat on Santa's lap, asked him to bring my friends all kinds of crap. Said all you need is to write them a song. Now you've all heard this song, so just try to sing along! Yes do sing along!" Phoebe sang.

"Monica, Monica, have a happy Hanukkah! Saw Santa Claus, he said hello to Ross! And please tell Joey, Christmas will be snowy! And Rachel and Chandler, mmmhh mmghhh… Handler!" Phoebe crooned, pointing to the crowd, cuing them to join in.

As the crowd dutifully sang back to her, the gang felt their hair stand on end as a chorus of 40,000 people called out their names. Swaying to the music, Chandler slipped his hand into Emma's, giving it a squeeze. Emma looked up at Chandler, surprised at the warm gesture. She let her head drop to her uncle's shoulder. Chandler kissed the top of the teenager's head.

As the gang watched Phoebe and Mike work up a storm on stage, one by one, the friends began joining hands. First Chandler and Emma, then Rachel, Ross, Monica and Joey. Finally, after 10 long years, the gang felt the distance between them fall away forever.

**2026 (20 years post-trial)**

As Head Copywriter at a multi-national firm, Chandler had spent the day with his advertising team, hashing out the final details of the firm's biggest advertising deal yet. It was a primetime television advertisement for a Chinese Insurance company, and the representatives were flying in from Shanghai tomorrow.

"大家好，我是 Chandler Bing. 欢迎你们来我们的国家," he practiced out loud to himself as he strolled down the street. Stopping in front of Monica's restaurant, he took a moment to admire her pride and joy. Emblazoned in silver lettering, was the single word, _Harmonica. _In the kitchen, she was sprinkling powdered sugar on her Triple-tiered lemon meringue cake. Chandler came up from behind her, giving her ass a tight little squeeze. She jumped up in delighted surprise.

"You dirty old man!" she laughed.

"Hey, there's many years left in this old man yet. I'm sure you'll agree, given last night's… activities," he whispered salaciously in her ear. Monica responded by beating him repeatedly with a dishtowel.

"Hmmm, rough play. Is this an invitation, Mrs Bing?" Chandler murmured, pulling Monica against him. In spite of herself, Monica giggled.

"So, you sure you can't make it? Get one of your sous chefs to take over?"

"No way, these kids are clueless. You want good work done, you gotta do it yourself," Monica announced.

"You're such a control freak," Chandler teased.

"Well, I didn't hear you complaining last night," Monica countered slyly.

"Touche," Chandler smiled.

"Seriously, get outta here already, or you're gonna be late!" Monica chided, playfully shoving Chandler out the door.

When Chandler arrived at the N.Y. State Supreme Court, he gave himself a moment to take stock. Twenty years ago, he was brought before these very doors in handcuffs. Today, he was here on his own volition. Shaking off his nerves, he stepped inside the Courtroom.

"I would like to call Attorney Geller on behalf of the Defendant," the Court Officer announced.

Standing before the court, was a beautiful young woman with bright blue eyes, tan skin and long straight bronze hair. She was wearing a black Ralph Lauren blazer and pencil skirt from her mother's "Fall Collection". The girl was a spitting image of Rachel. She glanced around the courtroom, nervously wringing her hands. Chandler flashed her a reassuring _You-can-do-this _smile.

"Your Honour, I would like to raise an objection under Rule 8.5.1 of the US Crimes and Criminal Procedure Code. Under the rule, the testimony of a child under age 5 is only admissible in Court if the child has been assessed by a registered clinical psychologist, and the Court has received a signed affidavit confirming that it is the psychologist's professional opinion that the child's recollection of the events are accurate."

"I assume you're referring to _Bing's Law," _Justice Perry commented.

"Yes I am, Your Honour. It's imperative that the tragedy of _US v Bing _(2006) is never repeated."

From the docks, Chandler watched proudly as his Goddaughter conducted her first Criminal Trial. In his heart he knew she was destined to become the next Mike Hannigan.


End file.
